


Falling Into Place

by Imnotahero



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 3a happened, AU after 3a, Addiction, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Stiles, Demons, F/M, Future Fic, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Magical Tattoos, Mystery, Only the last chapter has explicit sexual content, POV Alternating, Past Danny Mahealani/Stiles Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Supernatural Crossover, Tattooed Stiles Stilinski, but sheriff stilinski never found out about werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-05
Updated: 2014-04-05
Packaged: 2018-01-17 22:16:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 73,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1404478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imnotahero/pseuds/Imnotahero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn’t lost on Sheriff Stilinski that the strange murders and animal attacks had seemed to stop completely as soon as Stiles and his band of friends had left for college. But partly because he didn’t have any proof and mostly because he just didn’t want to believe, even for a second, that any of them could have anything to do with this kind of violence, he’d pushed that notion to the back of his mind and sealed it shut. </p><p>In hindsight John guessed he should be thankful for the couple of quiet years they got. He even got to revel in the news of Beacon Hills’ return to the top ten list of least crime-infused areas in California for three whole days before things started to go downhill. Later it would plummet into downright chaos, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.</p><p>At least Stiles was long gone and couldn't possibly have anything to do with it.</p><p>Right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sheriff Stilinski

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this in the middle of season 3A before Sheriff Stilinski was let in on the supernatural secret of Beacon Hills. The events of 3A played out with the Nemeton and all that jazz, but in this fic our poor sheriff is still very much in the dark.  
> Also I have no idea where the Winchesters came from. Totally not planned, they simply showed up unannouced, but they're just minor characters. And fair warning - it's been a while since I watched SPN, so... yeah.  
> Future fic! Alternating POVs.  
> Unbetaed because I just want to be done with it and move on :)
> 
> EDITED July 2016 - I've cleaned up the grammar a bit, and split it into chapters.

 

Sheriff Stilinski perused the document in front of him, a relieved smile slowly spreading across his face. Gradually the initial dread washed away completely, replaced by a giddiness he as a sheriff, hadn’t experienced in a long time.

Truthfully there had been preciously little to celebrate at Beacon Hills County Sheriff’s station the last half decade or so. One of the more dreaded and painfully embarrassing affairs had been the arrival of the bi-monthly newsletter with the state’s official police statistics. Sheriff Stilinski had in fact started approaching said report in the same manner he confronted dangerous criminals – one part steely resolve and nine parts fear. The comparison sadly ended there. While plunging into unknown situations was scary, it came accompanied by the rush of adrenaline and all senses on high alert. Opening the newsletter however produced the kind of fear that made you wonder if you’d even have a job at the end of the day. Overall, it was not good for his blood pressure.

In his first years as Sheriff, John had welcomed the statistics with open arms. In fact, it had been a much anticipated highlight of his job. He would print it, strut into the bullpen and swiftly and ceremoniously pin it to the notice board. This had been proceeded by some well-deserved praise to his deputies. Sometimes even cake. It had been welcome proof of how good a job they were doing compared to some of their fellow districts. Murder cases had been rare, the crime rate at a minimum and what little infractions they got was mostly petty B and Es.

Six years ago, almost to the date, they’d even topped the list with the lowest crime rate in recorded history for Beacon Hills. Sheriff Stilinski still had that list framed and on the wall in his office. He had intended for that to be the first in a long list of framed top statistics. That plan was now nothing but a pipe dream and about as unrealistic as the plots of most The CW shows.

At first it had only been a string of crazy animal attacks, but over the years things escalated. At times, the sheriff had wondered if the human population of Beacon Hills was infected by the same kind of crazy that seemed to possess the mountain lions in the area. In his frustration, he’d more than once wondered if there was something in the water that could explain at least some of the oddities. At one point he even had a sample analyzed but the report had come back without any findings. He’d buried it deep in the archives hoping no one would ever find it. They might think him crazy as well.

As bad as Beacon Hills might be, it still had a while before it reached _Twin Peaks_ levels of whacko. This comforted the sheriff somewhat on his bleakest days. Yet, as an elected official sworn to protect and serve it was hard for him to accept that only miniscule amounts of their cases were solved. Even the FBI had been baffled and left without the results they were hoping for in more than one case. It was a disconcerting thought. What was even worse John thought with heavy heart, was that even the cases they had solved, often left him feeling unsettled. Like he was missed something. Something important.

Things however were finally turning around. It had been steadily improving the last couple of years, and now Sheriff Stilinski could finally once again proudly pin the state’s official police statistic to the notice board without having to cringe with embarrassment. He even brought cake. Sure, they weren’t at the top yet, but he’d take no 9 any day of the week and twice on Sundays, thank you very much.

John received a few pats on the back and a handful of congratulatory “good jobs” from his deputies, which he returned with gusto. This was a good squad and they certainly deserved this acknowledgment. They’d worked hard, and it hadn’t always been easy. The local newspaper had been bashing them at every turn, sometimes even demanding a reelection for the position of Sheriff, but they’d powered through and now Sheriff Stilinski felt like the community was getting back on track.

On the way back to his office, he glanced at the portraits of the deputies that had lost their lives during the fatal massacre at the station four years earlier. John still had nightmares about that night, and try as he might he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the fact that Stiles’ classmate had been behind it all.

Sure, he’d be the first to admit that Matt Daehler had seemed rather unhinged and a tad crazy that night, but that still didn’t quite explain the animalistic way his men and women had been killed. Unfortunately, Matt had drowned and no one would ever know what really happened. The sheriff knew he had to come to terms with that, but it still didn’t sit right.

John sighed deeply and leaned back into his somewhat rickety office chair. He was no dummy. It hadn’t escaped him that his own son seemed to know more about that incident than he’d been letting on. But Stiles had stuck to the story of how Matt had admitted to getting revenge on the kids and teacher that had almost let him drown a couple of years prior. Scott had backed this up word for word, and without any other witnesses, he had to drop it. How Matt had drowned was still a mystery though.

The case might be closed but that didn’t stop John from contemplating the many inconsistencies from that night. Like how Melissa McCall had been so sure that Scott had been shot and even pleaded with him to let her help him, only to rather abruptly change her story later and say that she obviously must have been mistaken and that the shot (he’d heard that loud and clear!) had missed her son. Scott still had blood on his shirt though, but in all fairness, there had been blood everywhere. In hindsight John wished he’d bagged the shirt into evidence and tested it. Not that he thought Scott had been a part of the killings or anything; it was just his cop intuition nagging in the back of his mind that something – or everything – was amiss. John had come to trust his gut feelings in his years on the force, but this time his guts were of two minds.

So yeah.

Weird.

Even more baffling were the many windows blown out by what appeared to be automatic weapons, but no one had been able to explain that part either and whatever accomplice Matt might have been conspiring with had never been uncovered. High schoolers seldom had access to military grade weaponry like that. John had managed to bag a few shell casings, but couldn’t track them. Matt might have gone berserk inside the station because of past trauma, but unless he had an equally disturbed twin or mastered the art of cloning, he had not pulled the trigger. Besides, that part reeked of professional marksmen. Matt Daehler had, as far as family, friends and teachers were aware never fired anything other than his camera.

The term “weird” was in other words not doing that particular case any justice.

The Sheriff glanced at the filing cabinet filled to the brim with unsolved cases and felt physically ill. The statistics might be getting better, but he’d do almost anything to make a dent in that pile. Just thinking about it was giving him a headache. Thankfully it was time for lunch and John desperately needed a change of venue and some fresh air.

“I’m going out for lunch”, he informed the desk sergeant in passing as he walked out into the light drizzle. “I’m on the radio if you need me.”

The weather had been dismal the last couple of weeks, but now it looked like the sun might make an appearance. Feeling like he could use a little bit of air, John opted to walk into town instead of taking the squad car.

He’d get something healthy, like a salad or something. John hated to admit it, but his uniform was getting a little bit on the snug side especially at the waistline and he could probably stand to lose a couple of pounds.

‘ _Stiles would be proud_ ’, he mused silently and chuckled to himself. He always nagged him to eat healthier, even now when he was away at college. Secretly John hoped he’d never stop. It was Stiles’ way of showing he cared, and John deeply appreciated it.

_Stiles_.

The sheriff frowned and continued walking. Thinking about his son always left him with conflicting feelings. Mostly pride because Stiles, despite his ADHD and focus problems, had graduated high school with honors, third in his class only beaten by his longtime crush Lydia Martin and their friend Danny.

In fact all three of them had been accepted to Berkeley, and John felt a slight pang in his chest when he remembered the day they had all crammed into the jeep and rolled out of town. Danny had apparently transferred to some college on the east coast later on for reasons unknown, but Stiles and Lydia were still there and doing well.

According to Mrs. Martin Lydia was already studying math at PhD levels. John had been seated next to her for the Preserve benefit a month ago and she’d wasted no time regaling him with all her awards and accomplishments. It had been a longwinded diatribe but it was nice to hear that she was doing well. Lydia hadn’t always seemed all that stable to be honest. But she seemed to have adjusted to college life like a pro.

John had seen a lot more of her the last two years of high school when she and Stiles had been --- well, to be quite honest he never knew exactly what they were... _friends_? Certainly. More than friends? Sometimes it had seemed that way, but if so Stiles had never said anything. And considering he hadn’t shut up about her for years before that, it seemed ---  _odd_  that he wouldn’t be shouting it from roof tops if they had been a couple. But then again, Stiles had changed as well during those years. He’d become more introvert, secretive and cagey. Almost like a stranger at times. Then again, wasn’t that what being a teenager was all about? The Sheriff had chalked it up to teenage moodiness and moved on. To a certain degree at least.

It wasn’t lost on Sheriff Stilinski that the murders and animal attacks seemed to almost stop completely at the time Stiles and his band of friends had left for college. Still, partly because he didn’t have any proof and mostly because he just didn’t want to believe, even for a second, that his son and friends could have anything to do with this kind of violence, he’d pushed that notion to the back of his mind and sealed it shut. Or as shut as a sheriff was able to seal something like that up.

He couldn’t deny the fact that Stiles had turned up at an alarming amount of crime scenes. Sometimes he’d seemed to know things would be happening before they did. And the company he’d been keeping wasn’t always the best either. Derek Hale had cropped up on more than one occasion. Suddenly his sister Cora had turned up seemingly out of the blue after being presumed dead since the tragic Hale fire. Isaac Lahey lost his dad under weird and macabre circumstances, and even Scott, who was an even worse liar than Stiles, had stumbled into some seriously bizarre situations and usually not with the best of explanations.

But whatever they’d been involved in, he felt confident it was over now.  Lydia was most likely heading for a Fields Medal, whatever that was; Scott was studying to become a veterinarian and was currently doing his internship at Deaton’s. Isaac had taken classes at the community college and was now working at a youth center for abused children clearly channeling his own experiences into something positive. John wasn’t sure what Allison was doing, but she’d always seemed like a smart girl, so probably away at some college. He hadn’t seen her around for a while, but Chris Argent still lived here at any rate.

And of course then there was Derek...

The Sheriff stopped outside  _Cora’s Herbs and Tea_  and studied the menu. Derek Hale and his sister Cora had actually bought a rundown cafe and turned it into a rather successful business. It was a combined cafe quite popular with the lunch crowd and also an herbs and tea shop.

 

Skimming through the menu John saw they offered a nice range of salads.  “Why not,” he muttered with a shrug and pushed the door open. A bell chimed merrily announcing his presence.

Nodding politely to a few other patrons, the Sheriff made his way to a table towards the back and a less than a minute later a smiling Cora Hale was at his side, notepad at the ready.

“Hello, Sheriff Stilinski,” she said sunnily. “What can I get you?”

John smiled back. Cora was nothing like her brother who still scowled more than necessary in his opinion. Derek was a handsome man, but gave off an aura of hostility and gloom that kept most people at a distance. The sheriff suspected it might be a calculated move on his part to keep people at a distance. John had also read that this kind of behavior wasn’t uncommon with people who’d endured much trauma in their lives. More than once, he’d been tempted to suggest some counselling, but suspected Derek would take offence rather than accept the advice.

“A Caesar salad please, and a large latte”.

“Ok, coming right up.” She smiled crookedly as she dotted it down on the pad. “I’ll make that _decaf_ and hold the dressing, alright?”

Her face morphed from politely hospitable to an amused smirk and suddenly John could see the family resemblance. He groaned.

“Oh for the love of God! Did Stiles give you instructions? You could just ignore it and we’ll never mention it again?” He looked at her pleadingly hoping the Stilinski charm would work. Cora just shook her head still smiling lopsidedly.

“No can do, Sheriff. I’m much more afraid of Stiles than you. Your order will be right up.”

“I’ll tip generously!” he called after her but Cora just shook her head and waggled her finger dismissively, heading for the counter.

John slumped into his chair. Damn, he loved dressing! And although Cora had said it with a smile, he couldn’t help the tingling feeling that she actually meant it. Why would anyone be afraid of Stiles? The sheriff felt confused. Unless rambling or clumsiness scared you Stiles was as harmless as a fly.

His thoughts were interrupted when Congressman Jenkins stopped by to inquire about some reports on public vandalism in the town parks that the sheriff had been putting off for far too long. It almost spoiled his appetite.

Almost.

*

As it turned out the salad was rather excellent even without the dressing. He was just finishing the last of his latte when Derek came into the shop wearing his Preserve Ranger uniform. Strictly speaking uniform was a bit of a stretch. It was only a plain marine t-shirt with ‘Preserve ranger’ printed on the font. Yet it did the trick. In addition, according to several of his deputies, it accentuated Derek’s physique quite nicely. Sometimes he wondered if he ran a police precinct or a gossip column. Congressman Jenkins would probably argue there was little difference. Then again, the Congressman was a bit of a joke himself, so what did he know.

It had actually been Derek’s idea to start up with Rangers for the Preserve. He’d come into the station a few months after Stiles had left for college and presented his idea all solemn-like and serious. And John had to admit it made sense. With all the animal attacks the last couple of years, it would help to have someone out there patrolling on a regular basis. Derek had volunteered, and although John had to admit he’d been reserved at first there was really no real reason not to give him a shot.

These days Derek patrolled part-time so he could also help run the cafe, and he’d clearly just come of a shift because his hair was tussled with leaves stuck to the back, the uniform covered in dirt and what looked like blood stains on the front of his shirt. It was enough to peak John’s interest.

“Mr. Hale, a word if you please?”

John observed over the rim of his now almost drained coffee cup as Derek flinched slightly before squaring his shoulders and walking over.

“Of course, Sheriff,” he answered in his usual quiet voice. Even after biweekly meetings for almost two years Sheriff Stilinski was not even close to solving the mystery that was Derek Hale. He certainly was competent and his reports always on time and more than satisfactory. He also seemed to care genuinely for his sister and this business. Still, John had rarely seen him smile or show much emotion at all. He never seemed to interact much with anyone besides the other rangers and his sister.

True he had observed him a few times talking to Scott, but other than that Derek Hale seemed to keep to himself, and he certainly wasn’t dating anyone. John knew this because several of the young female deputies tended to discuss this topic at length after every preserve report Derek delivered to the station.

John gestured to the chair opposite from him and smiled warmly up at Derek.

“Please have a seat. You look like you’ve been wrestling with a grizzly.” The sheriff made a sweeping gesture at Derek’s dirty uniform.

“Oh,” he simply said with a quick glance down the front of his shirt.

“Seriously, you’ve got leaves in your hair. Did you fall into some vicious shrubbery?”

Derek seemed to suppress a smile as he ran a hand through his hair. A few leaves fell to the table and Derek quickly swept them into his hand and crushed them in his palm looking almost embarrassed. It was the most human reaction John had seen from him in months and he almost fist pumped the air.

“Some punk kids have set up rabbit-traps,” muttered Derek with a sigh. “I had to crawl through some bushes to remove them all. They even caught a few.”

He gestured to the blood and the dirt. “I’ve put it all in my report. We should alert the newspaper again, scare them with fines or something.”

The sheriff nodded in agreement. “Sure, I’ll do that at soon as I get your report. Anything else I should know about? No roaming mountain lions?”

Derek shook his head, lips pursed. John noticed how his jaw clenched and his shoulders tensed. This always happened when this topic arose. John couldn’t help but wonder why. He suspected it might be connected to his desire to start the Ranger program in the first place, but he knew it was no use asking about it. He’d tried before without result. 

“Well, in that case I better get back. Thank your sister for the salad, it was delicious. Even sans dressing.”

That drew a snort and a small smirk out of Derek. The sheriff almost walked into a nearby chair.

“How is Stiles?” he asked in a would-be neutral tone.

 

John thought he detected a hint of something... almost like fondness. He raised an eyebrow questioningly. Funny how Derek automatically seemed to associate his lack of dressing with his son…He wasn’t aware that they even knew each other all that well, and certainly not well enough to be instructing him on his diet.

 

Or had Stiles informed all of Beacon Hills about his diet restrictions? Perhaps he’d sent out a public e-mail blast. John wouldn’t put it past him.  He pushed those thoughts to the side and smiled despite himself. All niggling doubts with regards Stiles’ extracurricular activities the last few years of high school aside, the sheriff was truly proud of his son.

“He’s somewhere in Asia at the moment,” he admitted proudly. “Not sure where, I can’t keep up to be honest. He sent me an e-mail from Taiwan I think a couple of weeks ago. It’s all to do with this mythology stuff he’s studying. I can’t make heads or tails of it, personally.”

He shrugged and smiled tiredly. “I have no idea what’ll become of him once he’s done. I mean who combines Criminology with biology and mythology? What does that make you in the end?”

Derek gave the barest of shrugs and the sheriff ploughed on. “Not that it matters much at this point. As long as he’s happy I’m happy too. It’s always been hard to get him to focus properly with his ADHD and so I shouldn’t be surprised that his subjects are a bit....  _random_.”

“He seems like a good kid,” Derek offered and John smiled.

“He is. Most of the time. A bit exhausting at times, rambles a lot. But I prefer a rambling Stiles to a silent one any day of the week.”

The sheriff thought he heard Derek mumble ‘ _amen’_ but when he glanced back over he gave the curtest of nods and rose to his feet.

“I better get cleaned up and help Cora. You’ll get my report tomorrow.”

And with that Derek Hale swept from the room and Sheriff Stilinski was once again abandoned with the unsettling feeling that he’d somehow missed something of importance.

*

In hindsight John guessed he should be thankful that he at least got three whole days to revel in the news of Beacon Hills’ return to the top ten least crime-infused areas in California before things started to go downhill. Later it would plummet into downright chaos, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

In those three joyous days he’d done no less than four interviews for local radio and newspapers, the mayor had even held a press conference that was covered by a couple of news stations and Melissa McCall had honored the achievement with an invitation to a celebratory dinner at her house. The steak had been just the way he liked it, and thank god she did not seem to be under Stiles’ thumb because the dessert had been pure calories and sugary goodness that did nothing good for his arteries or his waistline.

Day four however did not start out in a good way.

“ _What the holy...?”_

“That was my reaction as well, sheriff, when I arrived.”

Deputy Hilliard was fairly young but had proven herself in the six months she’d been at the station. At the moment she did however look slightly pale. And John could not fault her that. The sight before them was grisly.

There hadn’t been any trouble at Beacon Hill Cemetery for years now, unless you counted the instances of punk kids knocking over a few grave stones every now and then. This however, this was bad. With a capital B. And A.  _And D._

No less than three graves had been dug up. Two of the bodies were … John guess  _mauled_  might be the best way to describe it. It did not look good, that was certain. And the third. The third was simply not there anymore.

“Who would do such a thing?” John asked, not really expecting an answer. Hilliard had turned her back to the grotesque scene and was doing her best to compose herself. “And why?” he added, at a loss.

“I have no idea, sheriff,” she croaked hoarsely. “The coroner is on his way. He might tell us something about the desecration of the bodies. It’s impossible to say if anything is missing, it all looks like...”

The sheriff made a hand gesture to show that she didn’t need to elaborate.

A few hours later after fending off a couple of troublesome journalist and a band of nosy kids that somehow got him thinking of Scott and Stiles when they were younger, they had a bit more to go on.

“The two bodies that have been ... _attacked_ ,” began Deputy Hilliard, “are Moira Matheson age 47 and Bart Clarkson, age 78.  Moira Matheson suffered a heart attack about a month ago and was laid to rest a little less than three weeks ago. Mr. Clarkson died in his sleep, his heart just stopped. He was buried two weeks ago today.”

Hilliard had regained a bit of color to her cheeks and seemed to have gotten over the first shock. She flipped her notepad and continued.

“The missing body is that of Ruth Greenberg, age 49. Remember, she was in that bus accident further south just a couple of weeks back.”

Sheriff Stilinski nodded. There had been a 10 car pileup and a bus had been pushed out of the road and crashed into some large boulders. Mrs. Greenberg had been asleep and thrown out of her seat and hit her head. Three others had lost their lives as well, but she was the only one from Beacon Hills. He scratched his head.

“So, the common denominator seems to be that they’ve only been dead a couple of weeks. Are there any other links? Family, friends, did any of the work together? Go to the same school, share the same dentist? A propensity for macramé? ”

Hilliard shook her head. “I haven’t found anything yet, but it’s only been a couple of hours. I’ll get back into that now. You weren’t serious about the macramé, where you?”

Sheriff Stilinski arched an eyebrow in lieu of an answer, and patted her appreciatively on the shoulder. She scurried off in obvious relief, yet still threw a few questioning looks back at him. The sheriff pretended not to notice. He preferred his deputies on his toes and thinking for themselves. She’d figure it out.

Behind him, a throat cleared rather pointedly and John turned his attention to the waiting coroner. Doctor Niels Feldman was not a likeable man, but at least he was skilled and effective. John didn’t much care for the stupid bowties he always insisted on wearing, though. Bowties were festive and silly. It wasn’t fitting on a coroner and certainly not on Dr. Feldman who looked like he wouldn’t recognize anything as festive even if it was beating him over the head and waving banners in his face. In addition, it really didn’t suit him. A man with that many chins shouldn’t draw attention to them. John was no fashionista, but even he knew that.  And yes, John was aware he was channeling all his frustration with the man onto his bowties.

“Do you have anything for me,” he asked the most polite tone he could muster. Dr. Feldman was perusing his own notes intensely and didn’t give any indication that he’d heard the question. John sighed. Great. He was punishing him for making him wait. He crossed his arms and stared down his nose at the medical examiner who continued to mistake the sheriff for air. It was the same routine every time, it really was getting old.

“Dr. Feldman, I said...”

“I heard you, Sheriff, no need to get impatient,” Feldman snapped in his usual curt tone. John fought the urge to slap him. Hard. Or yank his bowtie.

“Well…?”

"I need to take the remains of the remains," - Dr. Feldman snorted like a pig at his own wit, “to the morgue to do a proper examination. But my initial findings seem to indicate that the heart, liver and kidneys are missing.”

Sheriff Stilinski’s eyebrows lifted in astonishment. “On both bodies?”

Dr. Feldman nodded sagely. “Yes. More could be missing. It’s hard to tell with this kind of mutilation.”

He removed his gloves pensively, rolled them up and threw them into a nearby trashcan. He wiped his forehead nervously, something that the sheriff did not take as a good sign. Coroner Feldman was annoying, irritable and condescending. Occasionally ostentatious. Never nervous.

After a slight pause he sighed deeply, his lips pressed into a thin line, almost as if it was hurting him to speak.

“Quite frankly, Sheriff, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“That makes two of us,” John admitted with a sigh of his own. Did other sheriffs have to put up with weird stuff like this? Where were the statistics on Weird and Unexplainable Crime? There should definitely be one. Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Station would be rocking that list.

“Do you have any theories for why someone would do such a thing? I know there’s a huge black market for organs, but these would be too old I presume.”

Dr. Feldman looked deeply offended at the suggestion. “That’s not an option,” he said condescendingly. “Personally I think it looks like something with big claws has been at work. Possibly talons.”

“Claws? Talons?”

The coroner nodded. “Or a weapon that mimics that. You can’t do this kind of tear and damage with a knife or even an axe. Unless it’s been altered in some way.”

“So we’re what? Looking for Big Bird?”

Dr. Feldman rolled his eyes and adjusted his bowtie. It was in a rather ghastly lilac tone. “You’ll have my report soon, Sheriff.”

Sheriff Stilinski groaned. The last time things spiraled into chaos in Beacon Hills it had started with animal attacks. He wasn’t normally a praying man, but glancing heavenwards he pleaded silently with the man upstairs for history to not repeat itself.

 

***

 

Naturally history was about to repeat itself. John didn’t know why he was even surprised.

Two mauled corpses and an empty grave were bad enough. Realizing they had no viable leads to guide them further in the investigation elevated the case from plain bad to a potential nightmare. Just to add insult to injury, the next day kicked off with one of the vilest home accidents John had seen in his life.

How the poor fellow had managed to get run over by his own lawn mower (one of those huge contraptions you drove around like a miniature tractor) was more than John could fathom, but there it was. Or rather there it wasn’t. Because there wasn’t much left of him. Not much that was solid at any rate.

The mauled corpses paled in comparison. Deputy Hilliard actually threw up this time. Sheriff Stilinski did not blame her. He was fighting down bile as well.

While the forensic team did their thing, John and his deputies canvased the area. It came as little surprise to anyone and the sheriff least of all, that there wasn’t a single witness to be found. The late Mr. Fry-Smith had been home alone at the time, and none of the neighbors had heard anything. The sheriff could little do besides attempt to console the distraught widow while he waited impatiently for the technical team and the coroner to do their job, praying they’d turn up something - _anything_ – to help them solve the case.

Two wearisome hours later the remains had been removed, the widow heavily sedated and placed with close family, the coroner had left (“Honestly, sheriff, there is little doubt. The lawn mower did it”) and so far the forensic team hadn’t found anything strange about the scene, aside from the obvious.

They had packed up the monstrous lawn mower for further investigation, but the sheriff didn’t think they’d find anything. Apparently, Mr. Fry-Smith had been a terrible klutz and the outcome fatal. Unless the final reports turned up anything new, this case would be ruled an accident and filed under “solved”. It was a small consolation. Yet still decidedly weird.

Since there was precious little to be done about the unfortunate fate of Mr. Fry-Smith at present time, John instead decided to try and make some headway with the grave-desecration case. Remembering that Coroner Feldman had mentioned it looked like something with claws or talons had been involved, he decided to pay Dr. Deaton a visit.

It had been a while since Sheriff Stilinski last sought Alan Deaton’s advice on a case. Dr. Deaton was clearly a skilled veterinarian, and his input had actually helped in several cases. But there was something unnerving about the man. Perhaps it was his ridiculous solemnness or lack of facial expressions. John had never been able to put his finger on the whys of his uneasiness. It was just a niggling gut feeling that didn’t have root in anything substantial.

Feeling inspired to get in better shape he’d opted to park the car down the block and walk over.  Absentmindedly contemplating the enigma that was Dr. Deaton, he strolled over in a leisurely pace. By chance, he glanced into the side alley and was somewhat startled to see Scott. Not that it was surprising Scott was there. He was Deaton’s intern after all. The surprising part was that he wasn’t alone.  In fact, he was engaged in a heated discussion with what John recognized as Cora Hale and Isaac Lahey judging by the mass of wavy curls. Naturally, John knew they were friends from high school, but it still set off alarm bells in the back of his head watching them huddled together in the dimly lit alleyway. Cora was still in her café apron as if she’d hurried over.

As if sensing his presence, Lahey froze and turned to look directly at him. Cora and Scott must have noticed his reaction, because they turned in perfect sync, noses twitching like they were smelling the air.

Isaac shuffled his feet nervously while Cora simply seemed tense. Scott’s reaction however was the exact opposite. He grinned goofily and waved at John who instinctively returned the gesture, but added his patented raised eyebrows-and-scowl combo that usually worked wonders on younger delinquents. Throughout the years it had worked quite well on Scott as well. Stiles however had grown immune before he turned twelve. A pity really.

At times Scott reminded John of a large puppy given his somewhat naïve disposition and enthusiastic manners. He’d never met a more terrible liar in his life, and it was mostly because of that he’d never really seriously believed Scott and Stiles could be involved in anything too bad.

Lahey and Cora hurried out of the alley, both nodding at him in passing. Scott however jogged merrily over and greeted him with a quick hug. Either he’d finally grown immune to his Sheriff-glare or he (hopefully) had nothing to hide.

“Hey sheriff, what brings you around?”

“Business I’m afraid,” John admitted with a shrug. “I assume you’ve heard about the graves that was dug up.”

Something undefined ghosted over Scott’s face but it was gone before the Sheriff could make anything of it.

“Yeah, I think everyone’s heard about that. Terrible stuff. Do you have any leads?”

John felt something prickle on the back of his neck. Did Scott seem anxious?

“Sorry, son. You know I can’t comment on that. But I would like a word with Dr. Deaton if he’s in. In fact…” He smiled warmly. “I would very much like your input as well, if you don’t mind.”

“Huh? Really?”

Scott looked bewildered and shocked. Normally John had fought tooth and nail to keep Stiles and Scott away from official police business. It seemed like Scott hadn’t realized he was virtually an adult now. Not to mention he possessed knowledge that might help his investigation.

“Yes, really. Should we head inside?”

 

***

 

“Dear lord,” muttered Dr. Deaton.

The man was not easily ruffled. Sheriff Stilinski knew that for a fact from a few years back when the animal attacks had been at its peak. His facial expression was still as serene as a Zen Buddha, but his eyes betrayed him.

“Oh my god,” exclaimed Scott. His eyes almost popped out of their sockets. “You can barely see that it’s human. Or that it used to be a human. Before it died, I mean.”

John fought the urge to chuckle. Scott was not the most eloquent of men at the best of times, but stress always made him flustered. Unlike Stiles who seemed to calm down and be at his most focused when stress levels rose. Ying and Yang, those two.

John pushed thoughts of his strange son out of his mind and focused on the case at hand.

“I’m sorry to burden you with this. And I know the images are disturbing to say the least. The fact of the matter is that our coroner has stated that the mauling seemed to stem from some form of claws. Or talons. Both options frankly mystify me as much as they terrify me. That would suggest Jurassic Park was more than just a movie, which is not a comforting thought. Anyway, so far we have not recovered any traces of fur, feathers or other evidence to support an animal attack, but I have to run down any lead.”

Dr. Deaton scrutinized all the pictures carefully before passing them over to Scott, who definitely seemed more disturbed by the images. His eyes widened almost comically and his jaw, uneven as it was, dropped. No wonder Stiles always came home from poker nights with a huge grin on his face and pockets full of money.

“Of course, I understand, Sheriff,” said Deaton placidly and handed the last photo over to Scott. “It does indeed look like claw marks. I think we can rule out talons. I’m not sure what kind of animal could have caused it. Taking into account the fauna in this part of the state, mountain lion is the most likely answer. But I cannot be sure.”

The sheriff sighed. Mountain lions. The bane of his existence.

“In your expert opinion, is it normal for mountain lions to remove specific body parts”?

If he hadn’t been paying attention, John would probably have missed Deaton’s reaction. It was miniscule, but for a fleeting moment, he’d looked utterly terrified. Next, his face was the model of calm and serenity again. For some reason John thought of still waters shortly broken by the fin of a shark. He made a mental note to stop falling asleep while watching Animal Planet.

“That’s certainly not the norm,” Deaton mused. “I assume they in some cases remove parts of their prey for later consumption, but it’s not their usual modus operandi. Has something specific been taken?”

Sheriff Stilinski considered for a moment not commenting, but truthfully he was so desperate for any kind of lead he was willing to throw caution to the wind and spill some secret Intel. What harm could it do?

Scott fiddled with the photos and a couple spilled to the floor. “Oh god,” he muttered and dropped to his knees to retrieve them. The sheriff paid him no mind. Though Scott was not on par with Stiles’ brand of clumsiness he’d never been directly graceful. Other than on the Lacrosse field, that is. There his moves seemed out of this world.

Deaton was still looking at him with his calm eyes, patiently waiting for him to elaborate. John sighed deeply.

“What I’m telling you is in the strictest confidence, doctor.” He used his grade three Sheriff-voice usually reserved for petty theft and minor offences. Still effective though. Deaton nodded in his Yoda-like fashion.

“I understand. It will not leave this room.”

The sheriff handed Dr. Deaton the coroner’s report and for the next few moments the only sound was ticking of the clock above the door and the distant mewing of cats from the adjacent room.

 

***

 

“Where is your head tonight, John?”

“Huh?”

John jolted out of his, unsurprisingly, work related daze and glanced across the table. Melissa McCall had one of her very expressive eyebrows raised tellingly high. He felt his check flush slightly, silently berating his obsessive nature. It was hard to let the bizarre cases rest, even when the food was excellent and the company even better. Lord knew he deserved a break.

Melissa grinned knowingly and topped of his glass of wine. He’d preferred a glass of whiskey to be honest, but he’d made Stiles a very solemn promise to stay off the hard stuff in his absence. And it wasn’t half bad anyway. Kind of fruity, but still nice.

“I’m sorry, Melissa. These past couple of days has been trying to say the least. I thought we’d finally put all the crazies behind us.”

He took another sip of wine and shook his head despairingly.

“Sometimes I wonder if Beacon Hills is situated on top of a Hellmouth. At this point I wouldn’t be surprised to run into Buffy in the cemetery or some other creature of the night.” He laughed mirthlessly. “It certainly would explain a lot.”

Melissa smiled at the joke, but John could tell she wasn’t all that amused. Or maybe she didn’t get the Buffy reference.

“I’m sure you’ll get to the bottom of it,” she offered reassuringly. “Have you considered a cult or maybe some kids with an occult fetish? I heard something like that happened in Oregon a couple of years back.”

Now it was John’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “You’re keeping up with occult news in other states? Impressive.”

This time Melissa’s laugh was genuine. It was a nice laugh. “You know me, I’m a real news buff,” she joked while twirling her glass between long fingers. John rolled his eyes. Melissa put up a mock offended glare that quickly melted into a small grin.

“Actually it was one of the other nurses who told me and I thought it was worth mentioning. Or are you ready to chalk it up to another case of rabid mountain lion?”

She was still smiling, but something in her voice had changed. It was teasing, sure. But underneath John thought he recognized …  _fear_? Or  _worry_?

“Dr. Deaton can’t rule out mountain lion,” John admitted. “But he’s never heard of mountain lions harvesting organs, so the missing body parts are nothing short of baffling. He’s looking into it. Scott is helping,” he added as an afterthought.

Melissa grinned. “Of course he is,” she said with a casual shrug that embodied heaps of parental pride and then seamlessly morphed into a startled expression and a deep blush. She rose abruptly and whisked the plates and leftovers into the kitchen with the speed of an all American track star. John was once again left with a feeling that he was missing part of a puzzle that he wasn’t even aware he was working on. It was the theme of his life and he wasn’t sure he liked where it was going.

Melissa returned with ice cream and brownies and a longwinded story about a patient and a flute that soon had him in stitches, and he forgot about her odd behavior. He left the McCall house with a full belly, a smile on his face and a steely resolve to dive into cult-related desecrations the next morning.

 

***

 

The cult-research was put on the backburner when Dr. Feldman breezed into his office the next day sporting a disturbingly atrocious orange bowtie that John was tempted to volunteer to put out of its misery. He was accompanied by an equally disturbing coroner’s report.

“The  _brain_  is  _missing_?”

“Indeed.”

“All of it? And how? I mean the poor guy was more or less torn to shreds by his own lawn mower. The brain could hardly be intact and easy to remove. It would surely take time to… _collect_ it all. Someone had to notice someone scooping up chunks of brain matter off the lawn on a sunny Tuesday afternoon.”

The sheriff was at his wits end. _Brains_? When had Beacon Hills turned in to  _The Walking Dead_? He was half tempted to check that the name on his desk still read Sheriff Stilinski and not Rick Grimes.

Dr. Feldman looked extremely uncomfortable something that did nothing to ease John’s mind.

“Oh dear, there’s more isn’t it?” He slumped back into his chair and ran anxious hands through his hair. The coroner was fidgeting.

“Oh, for the love of all that is holy. Just spill it already!” John was all but roaring. All thoughts of manners and platitudes had been thrown out the proverbial window the minute Feldman uttered the words “missing” and “brains”.

Feldman slumped down in the opposing chair and suddenly looked years – _decades_ – older than before. “The brains,” he started tentatively, “were removed  _prior_  to his death.”

Lovely. Another freaky murder. John laughed mirthlessly startling Dr. Feldman into a slight crouch. He probably looked and sounded deranged.

“Why am I even surprised?”  He cast a wistful glance at the newly framed State Statistics and just knew it would be a long time until the next one.

 

***

 

It was all downhill after that.

When the Mayor descended on the station with a row of council members in tow demanding results, Sheriff Stilinski could little do but spew out reassurances that they were doing everything in their power to solve the case and bring the murder/grave robber to justice. Afterwards he felt terrible, because his gut feeling was telling him he’d probably made a promise he couldn’t keep.

They had officers patrolling the cemetery around the clock, but a few nights later two more graves were dug up. Once again bodies were removed, and that right under the police’s noses to booth.

To add to their misery, 23 year old Henry Tibbs was run over and killed by his car. This happened in his own driveway with no one behind the wheel and not a witness to be found. It was a sad day indeed when Sheriff Stilinski was not even surprised to learn that his brain too had been removed before the incident. If the media ever got hold of that piece of information Beacon Hills would turn into a circus with _serial killer_ headlining every media outlet. Something like that would turn his job from difficult to impossible in a heartbeat.

There was no rhyme, reason or pattern to any of the cases or victims. There was nothing connecting any of them to each other, at least not in a manner that shed any light on the situation. The lawn mower victim, Jerry Fry-Smith, had been one of the first mauled corpses neighbor. Deputy Hilliard had come back from talking to the families with a juiciest bit of gossip. Apparently, Moira Matheson and Fry-Smith had been involved in an ongoing feud concerning a fence and the placement of some rather foul garden gnomes. Rumors had it lawyers were involved.

Hilliard had provided them with photos of the gnomes in question and although John would concede that they were in fact an eyesore, their hideousness was hardly grounds for grave desecrations or lawn mower massacres. Sadly, he couldn’t rule it out either.

Surely, the apocalypse was near. It was the only explanation that kind of made sense, in the sense that it totally didn’t. Sheriff Stilinski half expected to bump into the hounds of hell at every street corner, and idly wondered if he should be stocking up on rock salt. He had constant migraines, and in a rare moment of compassion, Dr. Feldman provided a prescription for something with a bit more kick than over the counter ibuprofen. A prescription John at that very moment was on his way to fill.

It would have been a pleasant walk in the sunshine if it wasn’t for all the stares and mumbling from all the passerby’s. Old Mrs. Wilson tried to whack him with a stick, an experience that only added to the headache. The publics’ opinion of the Sheriff and his deputies were deteriorating by the hour and John was yet again regretting the decision to walk instead of taking the squad car. He vowed that next time he’d get his receptionist to run his errands for him. Delegating. Evidently it was a thing.

If he wasn’t so keen to avoid the nasty stares, the sheriff probably would’ve missed what was rapidly becoming a theme, namely strange back alley meetings. He was about to cross the street by Cora’s Herbs & Tea when he glanced into the alley next to the café and was once again witness to a heated discussion. This time it was Derek and Scott.

Derek was sitting on the stairs to the side entrance staring stonily into a cup of coffee while Scott was gesturing wildly and pacing back and forth. What Stiles undoubtedly would dub his 'spidey senses' were suddenly on high alert.

In hindsight, John rather sheepishly had to admit that he stooped to spying. Later he would question what made him do it, but he couldn’t really list a good explanation beyond a gut feeling. Sometimes that was enough for a cop.

Crouching down behind a large trash container conveniently placed so that it blocked the view of the street, John felt both stupid and curios in equal measures. The container provided the perfect cover. He was out of sight but still within earshot. The container also provided the sheriff with an odor best described as a mix of dead cows, fish gone bad and overcooked cabbage. He hid his nose in the crook of his elbow, doing his best not to gag and strained his ears. What on earth were Derek Hale and Scott McCall talking about?

“…what do you think?”

Scott’s voice carried nicely to where John was shamefully hiding. He sounded anxious. Derek grunted something unintelligible in reply and John shuffled as close to the edge as he dared.

“…can’t conclude from the photos, but it seems like our sort of thing, don’t you think?”

More mumbling from Derek.

“Yeah, I suppose,” Scott was conceding.

The sheriff was beyond intrigued. And more than a little embarrassed that he was behaving like nosy teenager. But intrigue trumped embarrassment, everyone knew that. His son lived by the rule.

“Have you come across anything in the Preserve? I haven’t picked up on any new or strange scents but I’m not really out there patrolling the perimeter every day like you do.”

“I haven’t picked up on anything neither.”

That was definitely Derek’s baritone.

“I haven’t swept the northern areas in a while, though. I’ll do that tomorrow. Not everything weird relates to us, you know,” he added drily.

Scott was laughing. Mirthlessly, John noted.

“Yeah, that’s the thing, Derek. I don’t know that. You don’t know that. Name one thing that wasn’t somehow related to us and our business.”

“The crop circles and the dead hens.”

“Seriously? Derek, those were senior pranks.”

“ _Weird_ senior pranks.”

“Still doesn’t count. Besides, I’m pretty sure Stiles had a hand in those.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

Without even knowing the guy Sheriff Stilinski knew Derek was rolling his eyes. Probably because he was doing the exact same thing. Stiles tended to bring that out in people.

“You know Stiles’ weird sense of humor better than most. And I always thought you helped him with that,” Scott replied.

Derek chuckled. John’s eyebrows shot to his hairline.

“You have no proof of that.” Derek sounded almost amused. It was the most animated the sheriff had ever heard him and it was in relation to dead hens. Should he be worried?

“That I don’t,” conceded Scott. “But he did run a very similar idea by me and I also know he tried to recruit Danny, but we couldn’t because of that lacrosse scout that Coach made us meet. Why are you growling? Stop that! Also, we all know you always end up going along with his whacky plans in the end.”

“Smarty pants.”

“Fail wolf.”

Honestly, John was going to have words with Stiles about those crop circles. The farmer had been up in arms over the ruined fields. The FBI had requested files. He’d half expected to see Mulder and Scully loitering in his bullpen.

Annoyance at his odd son was not the only sensation building, though. That nagging feeling was rearing its ugly head again. The feeling that he was missing something obvious. Something big.

And now Scott and Derek were talking again. What were they looking for in the Preserve anyway? And did it have anything to do with what was going on? Hadn’t Scott mentioned some photos?

“Have you talked to Lydia?” Derek asked.

“Yeah, she’s on it,” Scott replied. “I still think we should call him in, Derek. He could help. We might need him. And her, wherever she’s at these days. Have you heard anything lately?”

There were sounds of feet shuffling and John almost yelped loudly when something, probably Derek’s coffee cup, was tossed into the container with a loud bang.

“No.”

Derek’s answer was curt. Final.  “No on both accounts.”

“Oh, come on, Derek! What’s the problem, huh?”

More shuffling. Derek had obviously moved closer to Scott because when he talked again his voice was closer; clearer.

“He’s not done training and you know it. Disturbing that process might set him back. It could put him in danger. It’s a delicate process from what I understand. Especially –“

“I know, I know,” Scott added hastily. “Finding the balance and the control is hard and time consuming, so he keeps telling me. It’s just… I have this horrible feeling shit is about to hit all the fans. And I miss him. I miss them.”

Derek sighed deeply. “Yeah, I think we all do.”

The sheriff heard a door opening, then closing with a soft thud. Scott exited the alley at a brisk pace muttering under his breath, walking right past the container where the sheriff still hid, bathed in the odors of death and decay.

Sheriff Stilinski suddenly felt chilled to the bone. He did not know why, but Derek Hale had a checkered history and a tendency to be associated with weird stuff. If he was worried, John had a feeling it might be time to panic.


	2. Allison

It really was a terrible, terrible motel.

Well, she thought with a resigned sigh, it could be worse. It certainly was a step up from the infamous Glen Capri, but still it was dingy, worn-down and anything but cozy. She stepped out of the shower and dried off hastily, putting on a fresh pair of black jeans and a matching t-shirt. She dried off the fogged mirror and stared for a long time at her own reflection. She was tan. She’d never been this tan before and even though this had been her complexion for months now, it still her by surprise. Her hair had grown long again as well, and she braided it hastily, pushing aside all stray thoughts of Katniss Everdeen. She’d grown tired of the comparison years ago. 

Exiting the bathroom, she finds him draped over the other bed, watching TV. He’s slouching for once. He used to do that all the time, but training and years of near constant vigilance have for the most part wiped those traits away. The fact that he’s doing it here now, and with her, speaks volumes about the level of trust he has in her. They didn’t used to be this close. Time and circumstance has changed that. 

He snorted loudly; grin wide as the screen shows a close-up of a confused looking hyena. She’s discovered he has got a weakness for nature shows of all kinds. Apparently, that is something he’d inherited from his dad. Speaking of dads, she missed hers. Terribly. 

“Bathroom’s all yours if you want it,” she offered and he nodded absentmindedly, eyes still glued to the wildlife documentary.

“Yeah, I’ll go in a bit,” he mumbled still grinning at a particularly clumsy hyena. She had to admit it was adorable. 

She opened the fridge eyeing miserable content. The pickings were slim and she ended up with a bottle of water and a cellophane-wrapped sandwich. It didn’t look particularly appetizing. Still, they’d been driving all day and she was ravenous. She bit into it with gusto. 

“Do you want anything?” she asked and he glanced over.

“Sure, toss me a coke, please,” he answered.

She scoffed. “Nice try. Something without caffeine and you know it.”

He stuck his lip out in an exaggerated pout and she shook her head feeling oddly maternal. “You’re no fun,” he complained but there’s no anger in his voice. “Give me a bottle of water, then. Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” she replied dryly and lobbed the bottle over. He caught it easily.

As she devoured the tasteless sandwich, she observed him. He was jittery. That wasn’t unusual by any means, but after spending so much time with him she’s learned to catalogue his tells. As long as she’d known him, he’d never been still. Never been quiet. He was better at being quiet now. The training has taught him that. He’s never really still though. Not completely. Not even while he slept.   
This however was the other kind of jittering. The kind she’d grown to hate.

He’d made a hard choice at the time. She knew that. She’d respected it in a way that went beyond her own honor code and the choices she’d been force to make as the head of the family. She was guided by history and expectations. He'd entered into this of his own volition, knowing the risks. It hadn’t been an easy choice, far from it. Sadly, the alternative was even worse. Still, it took courage to walk into it willingly, knowing the cost and the sacrifice it entailed. 

Access to the power within that only occasionally seeped through depended on it. It had always been there – dormant. Yet, learning to reach it, to control it and channeling it has been hard. He’d almost given up at one point, and perhaps that would’ve been for the best all things considered. Still, it was too late to go back now. He simply need to learn to live with it, one way or the other.   
Allison sipped her own water studying him out of the corner of her eye. Such a stubborn idiot. Not to mention self-sacrificing. In the end, he’d resorted to a last desperate measure, something even his trainer had seemed reluctant to even suggest. They’d been told it was a long shot and when she’d learned the details, she’d fought it tooth and nail, had screamed, pleaded and begged. He’d been adamant. He didn’t want to return a failure and in the end it was his choice.

Allison had stuck by his side all the way and she wasn’t about to abandon him to his own devices now. Not when he was so close to controlling it. After all, he’d called her, asked her to come and help him, and she knew that decision was not one he’d made lightly. At first, she’d been baffled. They’d never been particularly close. When she’d confronted him, asked why her, he’d just stared at her for a long time, his expression oddly blank. She still remembers his exact words.

“I know you can be practical about this, Allison. You’re trained to be strategic, to weigh the risk against what you might gain. I need someone who can be calm, levelheaded and unemotional to help guide me through this. I know you can be that person. I trust you.”

How could she walk away after that? The answer was she couldn’t. Not without hating herself and forever wonder. But it came with a price, not just for him but for her as well. Secrecy. He’d be adamant about that part, and Allison had promised never to divulge the particulars to anyone. He didn’t want them to know how low he’d stooped, how far he’d been willing to go, to succeed. They all had such faith in him. They had always relied on his knowledge, his loyalty and quick thinking. She knew he was terrified of letting them down, and the thought of them knowing the price he’d had to pay to get where he was now, was more than he could bear.

She knew they’d never turn his back on him though. They would be mad yes, livid even, but they wouldn’t judge. Nevertheless, she could not make him believe that, so she’d agreed to keep his secret. Thankfully, they were almost through it. She hated the deception, felt it tear at the very fabric of her soul. Which was probably why she’d isolated herself from the rest right along with him. 

The good news was he could access it now without much trouble, and as long as he stuck to the more simple things, his control was flawless. Allison would have preferred if they could stay another month or so to complete the process, but trouble was brewing and Scott had seemed worried. Whenever Scott was worried, he came running. That was the pattern and she could not fault him. She usually came running too. They had ignored Natos’ insistent advice to wait, packed their belongings and began the long journey home.

“It’s time, isn’t it?” she asked quietly, not looking at him.

She could hear him squirming around on top of the bedspread. The bed was old and squeaked with every move. It was both distracting and annoying.   
She sensed him nodding. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him, knew that he wouldn’t want to see her sad eyes and the pity she knew they reflected. He hated showing weakness, and this was his weakness now. Most likely it would never leave him, not completely. It was his cross to bear and she dearly wished she could share the burden.

He got up quickly and entered the bathroom. She heard the shower start. With a heavy heart, she reached into her backpack and pulled out the small box, securely locked. The key was around her neck. She never took it off. He’d made her promise that too.

When he exited the bathroom a few minutes later his hair was still dripping wet. He’d put on a pair of sweatpants and a tank top. He was tan now as well, but she’d grown accustomed to that. It suited him. The symbols etched into his skin still gave her chills though. Not because they didn’t look good, because oddly they did. The reason they were there in the first place was harder to get used to. He’d given her one as well, on the back of her shoulder. Sometimes she thought she could feel it pulsating.

“Are you ready?” she asked.

There was no need to delay it. She’d been meticulous when measuring up and preparing, following the recipe to a tee.

“Yeah,” he replied in a would-be causally tone. It’ wasn’t. She could sense the hunger, the want underneath and it broke her heart. Still, she pushed it down. Emotions didn’t help the situation, not for her and not for him. Clinically and unemotionally – that was how she’d been taught to approach difficult situations, and that was how she would handle it. How she had been handling it. 

He sat down beside her and she reached for the needle. A moment later, she watched his pupils dilate and he sagged down in the chair, his head tilted back and a blissful look on his face. She locked the box securely and put the key back underneath her t-shirt. It felt heavy against her chest.

“Thanks Allison,” he muttered and she squeezed his arm reassuringly gulping down the bile, the guilt and the urge to throw the box away and to stop this madness finally.

“You’re welcome, Stiles,” she answered almost inaudibly. “Let me know when you’re ready to practice.”


	3. Sheriff Stilinski

Sheriff Stilinski was just about to pour milk into his bowl of cereal (just fiber, none of that artificial sugary stuff, honest to God!) when he got the call. He hastily put the milk back in the fridge, left the bowl where it sat and grabbed a banana and his gun on his way out the door. He almost made a mockery of himself when he tried to shove the banana into his holster.  Red-faced and mortified he was just very thankful he hadn’t put the gun in his mouth.

Derek Hale and Deputy Hilliard were standing awkwardly waiting for him when he pulled up by the edge of the preserve not long after. She was casting Derek approving looks while pretending to look over her notes. John made a mental note to talk to her about subtlety. A good police officer knew how to conceal emotions on the job. She was young, and obviously had a way to go.

Not that it mattered much in this case. The object of Hilliard’s fascination appeared oblivious to the effect he was having on the Sheriff’s second in command. Either he had a skilled poker face or he was just a smidge socially inept.

John decided the smart money was probably on the latter when Derek skipped formal greetings altogether and brusquely signaled for the sheriff and the deputy to follow him. He set off at a break-neck speed never stopping to make sure, if they were in fact keeping up.

They trekked through the forest following a beaten trail for nearly quarter of an hour before Derek suddenly took a hard left. They walked, stumbled and in Hilliard’s case, fell, through the thick foliage for what felt like forever. John was amazed that Derek knew where he was going at all, because judging by the thickness of the growth people seldom came through here.

“Is it far?” The Sheriff made another mental note, this time to renew his gym membership. He was embarrassingly out of shape.

“Just up ahead,” came Derek’s curt response, and true to form, a moment later they stumbled into an open expanse in the forest.

It was a beautiful place. Tall trees surrounded an open clearing overgrown with wild flowers in all shapes and colors. A sense of déjà vu swept over him. A pale memory of picnics, lazy afternoons and soft kisses. Something clenched in his chest and John studiously fought it down. The sweet smell in the air reminded him of _her_ perfume…It never really stopped hurting.

“Follow me.”

John shook out of his reverie and turned his attention to Derek who was sporting one of his patented stony expressions. Yet he looked paler than normal, and the Sheriff noticed bags under his eyes. John could certainly relate. There hadn’t been much peaceful sleep lately.

They trudged through the sea of flowers towards the center, Derek in front.

“Dear lord, what is that smell?” croaked Hilliard and now John could smell it too. Derek stopped and turned to face them, the stony expression gone, replaced by a look of utter pain that did not bode well.

“Dead bodies in the blazing sun. Not a good combination.”

If he’d thought the smell was bad, that was nothing compared to the sight that greeted them.

White stones formed a perfect circle in the dead center of the clearing. In the middle was what appeared to be a huge tree trunk, and though he couldn’t really see it from this distance (and to be honest, he didn’t really want to get a better view), John felt pretty confident that the missing organs from the grave desecrations were laid out like offerings around it. In addition, human remains, in varying states of decomposition, were laid out in on top of the tree trunk.

“And here I thought things couldn’t get any worse,” muttered Hilliard weakly. She was already crouching down, clutching her stomach and dry heaving. Even Derek looked slightly nauseated.

An hour later the scene was sealed off and swarming with deputies along with Dr. Feldman and a couple of his coworkers from the coroner’s office. The sheriff was honestly impressed he’d managed to arrive here at all considering the strenuous walk and the coroner’s massive bulk. He had to give the man kudos.

It didn’t take long before two very serious-looking FBI-agents turned up bringing the sheriff’s day from horrid to flat out nightmarish.  They introduced themselves as Agent Smith and Agent Wesson, flashing their badges with practiced nonchalance. The sheriff failed to quell a laugh. Seriously, that sounded like something Stiles would come up with. The agents met his merriment with blank expressions and a clipped encouragement to call their supervisor for confirmation. A niggling feeling churned in the pit of John’s stomach, so while he subtly observed the agents out of the corner of his eye, he’d done just that. Their boss had been gruff and to the point, leaving no doubt in his mind that the best thing would be to cooperate fully or suffer the bureau’s wrath. John had quite enough wrath bestowed upon him from the local politicians and community at large, thank you very much. Sighing in resignation, he waved the agents through. At least they hadn’t sent Agent McCall. Thank god for small mercies.

The agents instantly gravitated towards Derek. Before long they had him cornered and began questioning him about the hows, whens and whys of his find. Sheriff Stilinski would be the first to admit that he was not the founder of Derek Hale’s fan club, but he saw no reason for the FBI to treat him like a hostile witness, or should he say _suspect_. He was the one who’d reported it in the first place. Generally, criminals tended to skirt the crime scene, not embrace it.

In all fairness, Derek was acting like a model witness, answering all questions precisely and to the point. Still John couldn’t escape the notion that agents Smith and Wesson were far from convinced of his innocence. They had probably seen his arrest record and jumped to conclusions like many in law enforcement tended to do. John mentally scoffed. He had little patience for people who walked into crime scenes without an open mind. They rarely got the job done right.

“How exactly did you come across this clearing?” asked agent Wesson with a light frown. He was diligently taking notes. Agent Smith was content to scowl menacingly at Derek.

“It’s pretty remote and almost inaccessible. Bare a trail to follow. We pretty much needed a machete to cut through the undergrowth to get here.”

“I’m one of the Forest Rangers,” said Derek, arms crossed.

“Actually, he’s the _head_ Ranger,” interrupted John. “He presented the idea to me a few years back. We used to have a problem with mountain lions, you see. Since the Rangers came into effect, attacks have been dramatically reduced.”

“Mountain lions?” Agent Smith was rubbing his six o’clock shadow and looking almost amused. “Is that so?”

He shared a significant look with Agent Wesson who rolled his eyes in a ‘yeah-right-I-know-seriously’ kind of way.

“It’s the only plausible explanation for the claw marks,” the sheriff supplied with a sigh. “Both the coroner and the animal experts we’ve consulted came to the same conclusion. “

“Sure,” said Wesson with a purse to his lips. “Good to know the experts agree. Let’s get back on track. How exactly did you find this?”

Derek was still the poster boy for calm. Seriously, he could give Deaton a run for his money. John was nothing short of impressed, because these FBI agents were acting like professional douchebags.

“As a Forest Ranger it is my job to make sure everything is okay in the Preserve. That means that we also do sweeps of the areas off the trails. We’ve been working our way through the Preserve quadrant by quadrant.”

The agents reluctantly seemed to accept this explanation and after a few more inquires that included wanting a list of all the Rangers, they left. Derek stared after them as they exited the clearing whispering heatedly amongst themselves. He did not look happy.

John caught the eye of Dr. Feldman, looking red-faced and stressed, but he just shook his head signaling that he didn’t have anything worthwhile yet. John wasn’t expecting much to be honest. He was definitely revisiting the idea of a cult. This looked scarily like some sort of ritual sacrifice.

“Do you think I can leave?”

“Huh?”

Derek was standing next to him, his eyebrows lodged somewhere scarily near his hairline. He looked somewhat constipated and his nose kept twitching. With his bunny-like teeth, he looked like a very grumpy rabbit. Somehow, John doubted he’d enjoy the comparison.  Disturbingly, the Sheriff had not heard him approaching. He really was like a super stealthy ninja.

“Oh, yes. Definitely. In fact, I’ll join you. Not much more I can do here at the moment. Also, I wouldn’t mind getting a break from this smell, not to mention the grisly sight.”

John let Derek take the lead and together they fought their way back to one of the trails, jungle style.

They were mostly silent, because engaging Derek in casual conversation was not an easy feat. John tried a couple of what he deemed neutral topics like football and the prize of gas these days, but did not get more than one syllabus replies for his effort. He had almost surrendered to a half hour of awkward silence, when a thought struck him.

“So, Derek I guess you’re kind of friends with Scott now.”

Aside from a slight tensing of the shoulders Derek didn’t respond. He simply kept trudging down the trail in a pace bordering on a light jog. John was feeling slightly winded, and wowed that tomorrow was the day he was getting reacquainted with the old treadmill in the.

“I’ve observed you together, you know. At first I was somewhat surprised given your – well, _history_.”

Derek gave the smallest of shrugs. John ploughed on undeterred.

“I mean, Scott and Stiles did accuse you of murder and basically had you arrested a while back. I realize it’s been years and you’ve all grown up since then. I think it’s nice to see you get along.”

It was not his imagination. Derek was definitely not comfortable with the way this conversation was going, and seemed to be operating under the misguided notion that Sheriff Stilinski would give up when met with silence. He was very wrong of course. Stiles did not get his knack for word vomit from his mother’s side of the family.

“I assume you’ve crossed paths at Deaton’s,” he mused out loud. “I know he gets called out to the preserve occasionally when there are wounded animals that needs tending to.”

“Yeah, we’ve bonded over animal attacks,” Derek replied drily.

“I see. Well, we’ve certainly had an abundance of those the latter years.”

It was hard to tell without seeing his face, but John swore he heard a small snort, as if Derek found this funny in some way. Clearly, he had a somewhat weird sense of humor, but in all honesty, the sheriff was more surprised to learn that had any form of humor at all.

“Cora is friends with them, you know,” Derek finally offered and cast a look over his shoulder. “They were in the same year in high school, and she ended up quite close to especially Lydia and Stiles. The whole pack of them sort of wormed their way into my life because of her, so yeah, I guess I’m sort of friends with them now.”

It was the most open and personal thing Sheriff Stilinski had ever heard of Derek’s mouth, and he found he had little to add to that but a muttered “Makes sense”.

The rest of the journey transpired in awkward silence. He could finally breathe a sigh of relief when the parking lot came into view. The relief was short lived. He’s barely managed to fish out his car keys when the phone rang. John braced his nerves for a worst-case scenario. It just seemed like that kind of day.

It was.

 


	4. Cora

Cora’s feet hurt. In addition, her right shoulder was aching from too much kneading and she felt a headache coming on. Sometimes not even werewolf healing powers were enough and the only thing that truly helped was rest.

The lunch rush had been particularly chaotic today. Nathalie had called in sick, which left her with only Theo to help her out. The poor guy hadn’t coped well under the pressure. In fact, he’d been even clumsier than normal. He was well intentioned, bless his soul, and a real charmer with the customers, but that did not change the fact that he was not fit to carry a tray.

Nor was it a good idea to have him chopping greens (he’d almost taken his thumb off), so she’d been forced to give him a crash course in manning the till, and thankfully that had worked at least moderately well. As a result, she’d been doing all the serving.

When Derek called to tell her he’d found what appeared to be some kind of supernatural sacrificial site in the preserve, her morning shift had turned from a unpleasant but manageable nightmare to a hide-behind-the-pillow horror story.

Cora plopped down on the sofa with a loud groan, kicked off her shoes and began massaging her numb feet. She glanced over at Derek, who was hunched over his laptop and hadn’t even acknowledged her presence. He was wearing a dirty Ranger t-shirt and a deep scowl.

“Well hello brother dearest. How was your day?”

She threw one of the shoes at his head when he didn’t respond. She had excellent aim.

“Auch! Oh, hi Cora.”

Derek was pouring over what looked like the online bestiary database Stiles had set up a couple of years back with a bit of help from Danny. He was apparently attempting to use the search options but without much success if the escalating sounds of distress were anything to go by. Derek had not yet embraced the digital revolution.

“Have you found anything?” she inquired.

Derek muttered something under his breath, and hit a key with unnecessary force. The MacBook emitted a loud beeping sound that did not bode well. Derek swore with a creativity few knew he possessed.

“Sometimes I think he hexed this stupid thing so that only he can operate it,” he grumbled and hit more keys as if they’d personally offended him and needed a spanking. Cora laughed heartily.

“I wouldn’t put it past him. I know Scott used it just yesterday, and it worked fine then. You just suffer from CFD.”

Derek arched his eyebrows and shook his head. “Do I even want to know?” he asked darkly. She awarded him with one of her lopsided smirks.

“Computer Fear Disorder. It’s a thing.”

“Cute, but no, I don’t have CF whatever. And no, I haven’t found anything yet. Or rather, I’ve found too much. I need to narrow the search somehow, but I don’t really know how.”

He slumped in his chair and Cora took pity on him. With great effort, she dragged herself into the kitchen and retrieved two beers. Derek gratefully accepted the offered bottle, and then nearly managed to drop it when the Mac once again started beeping. This time it was an incoming Skype-call from Lydia. He hastily pressed the accept button. Soon Lydia Martin’s perfectly styled face and pursed lips greeted them.

“Lydia.”

“Derek. As charming and welcoming as always I see.”

She tossed back the strawberry blonde hair in her patented way before she narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

“You look like crap, by the way. Oh hello, Cora. Oh my god, I love your top, that really is your color.”

Cora beamed. “Thanks, you really like it?”

Lydia nodded and tilted her head thoughtfully. “Oh yes, definitely. However, you should try it with some different pants. Or perhaps a skirt? Do you have anything in mauve?”

Derek made a production out of rolling his eyes and sighing deeply.

“Could you wrap up the Pret-A-Portier part of this conversation and perhaps concentrate on the murder and desecration happening here?”

Lydia tutted.

“Temper, Derek. I doubt a few compliments to your sister could hurt. Anyway, I’m just calling to let you know I will be coming back to Beacon Hills shortly. Now that we have more data points, I think I can apply some of my mathematical theories for locating the creatures. I figure it’s worth a try at least.”

Cora perched on the armrest of Derek’s chair.

“Cool. But can’t you just use your Banshee powers?”

Lydia looked thoughtful. “I’ve been thinking about that. Distance shouldn’t affect my abilities, and so far I haven’t had any “episodes”. I know I’m some sort of human Geiger counter for death, but this creature or whatever it is, has only gone after corpses, and they’re already dead. I doubt I can “banshee” something that’s already deceased. And if so I haven’t managed to find the right frequency for it yet.”

Derek nodded pensively. “That makes sense I suppose. I appreciate you coming down and bestowing us with your genius, though.”

Lydia actually laughed. “You flatter me, Derek. But you already know that I think we need to try to locate Allison or at the very least call back Sti--”

“No!”

“Seriously?” She glowered at him. “You’re biting my head off for suggesting the only obvious solution? We will need them, and you know it.”

She looked murderous. Even poorly pixelated Lydia was a scary sight when angered.

“Maybe,” admitted Derek reluctantly fiddling with the label on his bottle. “But we’re going to give it a shot without him first. It will damage his training, possibly set him back almost half a year, and--”

“--and while you’re busy being noble and cowardly more graves will potentially be desecrated, supernatural crazies will perform evil ritualistic offerings in the woods, and god knows what the next phase will be. I only know that it’ll be worse and possibly involve fatalities.”

Lydia sighed deeply and pierced Derek with one of her patented glares. “He’ll resent you when he finds out you’ve kept him in the dark.”

Derek shrugged. “I know.”

Lydia exchanged an exasperated look with Cora, and she could little do but roll her eyes in a What-Can-You-Do-He’s-A-Stupid-Idiot kind of way. Her brother was a stubborn idiot. It was a family trait and Cora knew it was futile to argue with him, so why bother?

“Well, it’s you funeral, Hale,” said Lydia bitingly. “I’ll be there sometime tomorrow evening. Don’t for a second think I’m going to let this matter rest.”

She ended the call without a goodbye and Cora rose. She needed a shower. Her big brother on the other hand, needed to get his priorities sorted.

Halfway to the bathroom she turned to look at him. He seemed lost in his own thoughts, and she doubted he would find his way out the current headspace anytime soon, at least not without some help. He’d always been prone to brooding.

“Are you scared?”

She hadn’t meant to ask, it just slipped out. Derek shook out of his stupor looking thoroughly bewildered.

“Scared? Scared of what?”

Cora squirmed. Why had she opened her big mouth?

“I don’t know…” She hesitated, searching for the right turn of phrase that wouldn’t make him clam up.

“It just seems like you’re working really hard to make sure they don’t come back. It just makes me wonder _why_ , that’s all.”

Derek did that thing were his eyebrows almost knit together. It was the first sure sign of him closing off. “I’ve told you already, the training--”

“I know, and I don’t believe you. It’s something else.”

She bit her lips nervously, not sure if she had the guts to ask the question everyone in their pack had been dying to ask. So far no one had dared. But she was his sister, and it had been ignored long enough.

“Did something happen?”

She let the “ _with Stiles_ ” part of the question go unspoken. She knew Derek would get it. He was silent for a long time, obviously fighting an internal battle. Cora had more or less given up on any form of response when he muttered and almost inaudible “ _No_.”

He turned around and began manhandling the laptop again. If she’d been human she would have missed it, but her werewolf hearing had no trouble picking up the near silent “ _Nothing_ _happened_.”

His heartbeat was steady so she knew it wasn’t a lie. Yet it was not entirely truthful either.

 


	5. Sheriff Stilinski

There were especially two locations in Beacon Hills Sheriff Stilinski had come to detest with the passion of several blazing suns. One was surprisingly enough Beacon Hills High School and the other Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital. Unfortunately, he was currently at the latter of the two. 

His hatred for the hospital went back to the time when Claudia had spent months and months there never getting better. Now every time he stepped through the doors the smell alone almost sent him reeling back into a depression.

As an officer of the law, hospitals were more or less part of the package deal, but John felt he spent an unfair amount of time here. The same went for the high school. Bad shit often happened at these locations and he was loath to understand why criminals and bad seeds felt the need to conduct their murders and mayhem at the local spots for healing and learning. John was rapidly concluding there were many things in the world that he did not understand and never would.

“He’s in a bit of state, so please proceed with caution.”

Melissa was leading him down the corridor to the psych ward, cheeks flustered and hair in slight disarray. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one having one of those days.

She gestured him through a set of double doors and down a corridor he’d never visited before. He was not sure he even wanted to.

“Has he been given any sedatives?” he inquired in an attempt to mental prepare himself. Interrogating people who’d been drugged or sedated often led to inadmissible proof and if so he’d be wise to wait it out.

Melissa shook her head. “No, not yet. He’s not violent, just really upset. I guess _distraught_ is more accurate, to be honest.” She paused briefly and drew a deep breath before continuing.

“He’s got some cuts and bruises and a nasty bump on his head. We suspect he might have a concussion of sorts, and that that might be the cause of his… _hallucinations_.”

John cursed silently as Melissa swiped her access card and shepherded them into the closed unit ward. Already they could hear screaming. He signaled for Melissa and Deputy Hilliard to stay in the corridor. Hilliard looked relieved beyond words. John patted her gently on the shoulder as he gave Melissa the go ahead to unlock the door.  

 She swiped her card again and the door swung open. With it came a tsunami of wails.

The room was like something out of a movie. Padded walls, no furniture. Just a single hospital gurney in the middle of the room fully equipped with straps and restraints. It was quite disturbing to find Stiles’ former classmate and fellow lacrosse player in this state. The poor guy was trashing around and tugging at the restraints, screaming what sounded like unintelligible gibberish but quieted immediately when he noticed the sheriff.

It was like a hitting a switch.

“Thank god!”

The patient made a futile attempt to lift his head up, but the restraints sent him crashing down with a muffled thud. Instead, he did his best to turn his head, eyes wide and frantic, but still alert.

“Sheriff, I’ve been attacked! You must believe me, I’m not making it up, I swear!”

John perched on the edge of the bed and looked down on… He’d actually never learned his first name. He’d always gone by Greenberg.

“Calm down, son,” he urged soothingly. “Don’t hurt yourself on these restraints. Just relax, and tell me what happened.”

Relief washed over Greenberg’s face and he nodded vigorously, or as vigorously as the restraints would allow anyway, which wasn’t much at all. John made a mental note to talk to Melissa about that.

“Yes, yes. I will. It’s just…”Greenberg swallowed audibly, and the sheriff could’ve sworn he saw fear wash over him.

“It’s just… Oh God, how can I even say this without sounding like a completely nut job…”

He trailed off, casting a frustrated look up at John’s face. John grabbed his hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. Whatever was troubling this young man it was evident that he believed it had happened, and he deserved not only to be heard but also to get a fair assessment. He’d been sheriff long enough to know that judging before hearing someone out, seldom did you any favors.

“I was on my way home,” Greenberg began shakily. “I had to go through some of the paperwork after my mom’s death. I had no clue there could be so many papers to fill out.”

Unfortunately, Sheriff Stilinski did know. He did not envy the boy.

“What about your father, couldn’t he help with that?”

Greenberg shook his head, his eyes hard with contempt.

“The bastard left us four years ago. Just packed a bag in the middle of the night and left a one-sentence note. He sent me a check to cover funeral expenses, but he didn’t even show for the actual ceremony.” He sneered and cast John a look so full of hate it made his heart ache. “She left the house to me, so I guess it wasn’t worth it for him to make the trip when there wasn’t anything to gain. And when her body was dug up and stolen, he didn’t even return my calls.”

“I’m terribly sorry.”

Greenberg made a guttural sound that cut right through to the core. John tactfully looked away as tears trickled down his face. Unable to wipe them away Greenberg turned his head to the side and did his best to wipe them on the pillow. He only half succeeded.

“Yeah,” said Greenberg hoarsely with a bitter tint to the voice that did not become such a young man. “You and me both. But what can you do?”

Knowing that nothing he could say would make it better, the Sheriff just leveled him with the most open and sympathetic look he could muster. It seemed to do the trick.

“Anyway,” Greenberg continued, “an asshole of a dad I can deal with. Zombie moms though, not so much.” He laughed mirthlessly. “I’d never thought I’d ask, but do you think we’re on the brink of a Zombie Apocalypse?”

John felt like he’d been dosed in cold water. What the…?  _Zombies_? Had Melissa read the chart wrong? Clearly, Greenberg was tripping on _something_.

“You lost me at ‘ _zombies’_ , son,” said John tentatively. Greenberg shuddered.

“Oh God, I wish I was joking right now. However, the fact of the matter is that I came home from work today, let myself into the house and was just going through the mail when I heard a noise from the kitchen. Stupidly I thought it might be my dad, so I rushed in and…”

He trailed off, staring deliberately at a point somewhere above John’s head, clearly struggling to find words.

“At first I thought I was seeing things, you know. I talked to a therapist right after mom died in that accident and she told me it was a normal part of the grieving process for some people to see their loved ones. Like think they got a glimpse of them on the bus or something like that. I personally thought she was full of crap.”

He laughed again. The sound made Sheriff Stilinski shudder.

“After her body was dug up and just vanished, I must admit I’ve been a little out of it. So I remember thinking ‘This is it. This is the moment when I break down and lose my shit.’ Cause there she stood, by the stove stirring some pot. Same pink dress I’d picked out for the funeral and with her fancy pearls and all. And then she turned around…”

Greenberg squeezed his eyes shut and began squirming against his restraints again. As if he was trying to escape something. John felt for the guy. Clearly, he’d had a psychotic break, but it was obvious that to poor Greenberg, this whole ordeal had felt real.

“She looked just like something out ‘ _The Walking Dead_ ’. All grey and half decayed and… Oh god! I said ‘Mom’ but she didn’t even blink. And she came right at me with a knife. One of those big butcher’s knives she used to carve the Thanksgiving turkey. I just ran into the hall and grabbed my lacrosse stick, whirled around without thinking and whacked her right in the head.”

John caught Melissa’s eye outside the door and nodded. She returned the nod and disappeared down the hall to get a doctor. Greenberg was flat out crying now, heaving sobs wracking his body.

“Half her face just sort of exploded all over the hall, but she just kept on coming. So I ran. I don’t remember anything after that. Until I woke up here in the hospital in restraints.”

He leveled John with a surprisingly clear look in his eyes.

“There’s something not quite right with this town, Sheriff. And you’ve got to stop it. You have to stop my mom. If she’s gone zombie, the others might have too. You go to warn the families…”

The door burst open, two overlies and a doctor stormed in. Greenberg immediately panicked.

“No! No! No drugs! I don’t want anything! I’m not making it up, I’m…”

The screams died down to muffled shouts as the Sheriff stepped out into the corridor and shut the door closed behind him. Melissa looked worried.

“Poor kid,” she said and gave John’s arm a squeeze. “What are you going to do now?”

John scratched his jaw in frustration. “In this case? Nothing much. He’s been through a lot; he’s not the first to break down like that.”

Melissa did not look convinced for some reason. Her forehead was creased and she was chewing her lip, both clear tells that she was thinking about something and not sharing.

“Don’t tell me you think we’re in an episode of  _The Walking Dea_ d too,” he asked in a poor attempt at humor. She gave him a weak smile.

“Sometimes I do wonder,” she said with a straight face.

“You’re not the only one,” Deputy Hilliard remarked mirthlessly.  The Sheriff startled slightly. He hadn’t noticed her approaching. She put away the radio and looked both confused and scared.

“Just tell me,” said John resignedly and leaned against the wall. He was _so_ tired these days.

“That was Walters on the radio. He’s at Greenberg’s house with the forensics team, and they’ve just called in the FBI.”

John groaned thinking about the cocky agents from the woods earlier. He did not look forward to more interactions with them. He arched an eyebrow and Hilliard swallowed thickly.

“Sheriff, they say there is brain matter and human flesh all over the walls in the hall. And according to Dr. Feldman it’s not fresh.”

“Meaning what exactly?”

“It appears young Greenberg might not be as crazy as he sounds.”

***


	6. Allison

_Welcome to Beacon Hills!_

She sped past the sign and felt her heart skip a beat just as it had the first time she had laid eyes on it. It wasn’t anything special. Colors slightly faded, picture horribly generic. It was a blessing that whoever put it up had forgone the traditional population number. Allison knew all too well how quickly it could drop, just in the span of a few weeks. It was absolutely better not to draw attention to it.

She pulled off the main road, taking a left onto Circle Street and greeted now familiar landmarks with a soft smile. Things certainly had changed, and thankfully not everything for the worse. Allison had been anything but happy the first time she passed that sign years and years ago. In fact she’d been angry. Angry and frustrated. Not because she thought Beacon Hills was such a bad place necessarily, but she’d been tired. Tired of moving around, tired of being uprooted, tired of being the new girl and forced to make new friends. Constantly moving hadn’t afforded her the time to discover who she was. That was partly why she moved in with a box full of items representing different Allisons. The painter, the photographer, the poet. None of them personas she’d found comfortable and right. She would never have guessed that this would end up being the place she would finally label ‘ _Home’_. The place where she’d find herself.

Coming back had her insides in a tight knot of very conflicted feelings. On the one hand it was good to be back. A relief even. She was definitely looking forward to seeing her dad again. He did not know the extent of her training or where she’d been, but he knew enough and had approved. Allison felt lucky and grateful to have him. She was the head of the family, had been for years now and he would go along with whatever she decided, that she knew without doubt. Still, it was nice to know that she had more than just his allegiance. Trust and understanding was worth so much more than she’d even imagined. 

Then there was Scott.

She still did not know how to categorize her relationship with Scott McCall. They were connected; they had been from the moment they met and he’d goofily offered her a pen. Now however it was, well – different.

 

The puppy love romance of their high school days was well and truly over. That had been a whirlwind of emotions that had led them both to make irrational decisions and shut the world out, and not always with the best of results.

 

The sacrifices to the Nemeton and their role as Guardians of Beacon Hills would forever keep them linked. Yet Allison knew the connection ran even deeper. When they were apart she felt…  _shattered_. Incomplete. Like a piece was missing. Or not exactly missing, that wasn’t the right word. It was more like there was a small part of her that was just – _blank_. Devoid of feelings, devoid of anything. Just static.

 

The notion that she might be contingent on another person to be “whole” angered her. Allison Argent did not appreciate feeling codependent and contingent on another person in order to feel complete. Which was probably the main reason why she’d been keeping Scott on arm’s length for years now, to be honest. To prove to herself that she would be fine without him. And she was. She was fine without him. Still, there was a huge difference between _fine_ and _happy_.

 

The hollow feeling had grown with distance. The further she’d gone from Beacon Hills, the more pronounced it became. However, this was not necessarily just because of Scott. The Nemeton was as much to blame, if not more.  Because of the link they’d forged and how they’d bound themselves to it they weren’t supposed to leave Beacon Hills for any length of time. Deaton had made that crystal clear. They were stronger together. Always had been.

They’d always known collage could be tricky. That was why the three of them had chosen schools within the state. In a pinch, they could get back within hours. Deaton had been quietly skeptical, but had agreed to let them try. For the most part it hadn’t posted any problems. It wasn’t until Stiles announced he was leaving the country that it was truly but to the test.  Naturally, everyone involved had been wary, but looking back it was the right choice. They had both benefitted from the training; there was no doubt about that. Personally Allison still felt Stiles had gone too far, and feared that the shadows around his heart would grow bigger as a result. It was still too soon to tell. She was keeping an eye on him. Probably always would.

Even if they hadn’t discussed it, she knew Stiles suspected, as did she, that it might be their absence that had allowed for whatever it was that was wreaking havoc on the town, to pass through the barriers. It was a sobering thought.

She shifted gears and pushed down on the gas. She was anxious to get home. To get out of these dirty clothes and shower the road off her skin. She also suspected Stiles might be getting jittery soon, and she wanted that part of her night out of the way as soon as possible.

Allison glanced in the rearview mirror and spotted a single headlight behind her. They’d decided to ride into town separately, just in case. During their South-American boot camp, they had accumulated an impressive collection of weapons and other items of questionable nature, and getting it into the country and over state lines had been risky. During a layover in Tucson after crossing over from Mexico the day before, Stiles had suggested splitting up. Just to play it safe. She had agreed.

They had traded in their massive SUV at a dealership she suspected might not be very legit. The salesperson had after much deliberation offered them the old muscle car Allison was driving and the motorcycle Stiles was on right behind her. The plan was to meet up at her dad’s when they got into town. No one knew they were coming and she got the distinct feeling Stiles was not looking forward to seeing any of their friends. Not that he had mentioned anything specifically, but the closer they got to Beacon Hills, the more fidgety he had become.

She knew him well enough now to know it was not just his “little problem” causing it, but all attempts to talk about it had resulted in a litany of sarcastic remarks and an unhealthy dose of Stiles’ patented deflection tactics. Allison was a patient woman, but Stiles Stilinski in full word vomit mode was more than she could handle when she was exhausted, and so she had wisely dropped it.

Allison came up on the cemetery and spotted deputies stationed at every corner. Not that it would do any good, but A for effort. She shared Scott’s view that having the sheriff in on whatever was going on in the shadows would be more helpful than harmful, but Stiles had been unwavering on the subject. She made a mental note to ask again.

A few minutes later and Allison was swiftly coming up on the high school. She felt a wave of nostalgia wash over her. So much had happened here, both good and bad. This place and the people she had befriended here was such an intricate part of who she was.

After passing the Beacon Hills Animal clinic Allison turned left on Commerce Way towards Northern bridge. The lights at the clinic were all out. Scott obviously wasn’t there at this time of the night, still her heart pounded erratically. She clearly wasn’t over him, not by a long shot.

Flashing lights brought her abruptly out of her trip down memory lane.

“Oh fuck!”

That was definitely one of the Sheriff Department’s squad cars flagging her down. For a split second, Allison stupidly considered making a run for it, but doubted the car was fast enough. Cool as it was, it was not fit for a car chase. Therefore, she did the only thing she could do. She slowed to a stop and prayed that some huge Bambi eyes and fluttering eyelashes would get her out of trouble. It wasn’t until she rolled down the window that Allison realized three possible inconveniences: The box with Stiles’ shit were in the backpack on the seat next to her, she did not have any form of ID with her and the deputy walking towards her was a woman.

She glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the lights from Stiles’ bike parked a good distance away. Quickly she hit the brake pedal hard three times, noticing how the rear lights pulsated in the dark. Three honks were the signal for distress, and she prayed he would get the reference.

With a sinking heart Allison rolled down the window, glancing hopefully at the approaching deputy. She came to a halt next to the car, and stared down at her with a stony expression. Nothing about her body language suggested she might be interested in cutting anyone, and least of all Allison, any kind of slack. Unless she could offer her a pillow and a paid vacation. The deputy looked exhausted.

“Good afternoon, officer,” Allison said demurely, hoping not to arouse any suspicion and get away with a simple ticket. The tone was in stark contrast to both the car she was driving and the tight black tracksuit she was sporting, but it was worth a shot.  “What seems to be the problem?”

The deputy bestowed her with a flinty expression worthy of Derek and whipped out her ticket pad.

“Well,” she began and clicked her pen repeatedly as she glared down on Allison with unimpressed eyebrows. “Firstly you were speeding. Secondly, you have a busted tail light. So let’s start with license and registration. And I notice you have Arizona plates, so please kindly pop the trunk so I can do a quick sweep to see that you’ve not carried any illegal contraband across state lines.”

Allison felt her insides turn to ice. She was well and truly screwed. The trunk full of weaponry was enough to secure her not just slap a on the wrist, but also a future court date. With the way things were escalating around here, neither she nor the town would be well served with her incarcerated.

“I think I have my license here in my backpack. Hold on.”

She gave the deputy her most dazzling smile, dimples and all, and began rooting around with exaggerated movements. She found the box easily enough and managed to whip it onto the seat without arousing suspicion. She had to get the box out somehow but the deputy was blocking the window and the door. This old car didn’t have electric windows, so the passenger side window was not an option. The only possible way was out the driver’s side window, which meant she needed the deputy out of the way…

Another glance in the mirror and Allison realized Stiles had moved closer and was now waiting for her signal less than a block away. Swearing silently, she popped the trunk.

“Why don’t you take a look in the back while I locate my license,” she suggested innocently. The deputy nodded and walked to the back.

The roar of the motorcycle took the officer by surprise if the yelp was anything to go by. The bike reverberated past her and came to a screeching halt by the driver’s side. Allison tossed the box out the window and Stiles caught it expertly. Before the deputy even knew what was happening he had rounded the corner and was disappearing into the night.

She sighed in relief, but the reprieve was short lived. Next, the door was pulled open and a surprisingly strong arm yanked her out of the car and slammed her against the hood.

“You look like an innocent flower, but you’re quite the serpent underneath, aren’t you?”

She felt the cold of handcuffs against her wrists.

“Also, it’s quite the interesting collection you have back there.” The deputy nodded towards the trunk. Allison shrugged lightly.

“Yeah, you could say that.”

“It’s the kind of collection that makes one wonder what on earth the thing your partner sped off with was. I doubt it comes as a surprise to you that I would like you to accompany me to the station. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say and do can and will be used against you…”

Allison tuned her out. She just hoped Stiles would go to her dad for help and that they could get her out before Stiles got too desperate and managed to royally fuck up his step-down program. Or worse; hurt himself.

 

 


	7. Sheriff Stilinski

 

“Oh, crap!”

John groaned dejectedly as he watched the last dregs of his admittedly terrible coffee spill all over the stack of reports he’d just finished reading. It had been another seemingly endless day. The scene at the Greenberg house had been horrid and a mess unlike anything he’d ever seen.

Weird as it might sound, the forensic team had indeed found brain matter and other forms of body tissue splattered all over the walls. The Sheriff hadn’t needed a PhD in medicine, just a healthy nose thank you very much, to determine that it was far from fresh. He was still trying to wrap his head around it all and get the stench out of his nose. It seemed to have settled deep into the fabric of his uniform. It was in desperate need of a trip to the dry cleaners. But that would have to wait, and so he endured the less than desirable odor wafting over him every time he moved.

Most of the afternoon and evening had been devoted to an intense brainstorming session with the other deputies to come up with a viable and logical explanation. Because  _zombies_ , that was just not cutting it.

The sheriff was fruitlessly attempting to salvage the coffee-drenched reports with a handful of paper towels completely devoid of absorbency when Deputy Hilliard came bursting into his office.

“Oh god, please don’t tell me we have another zombie on our hands,” moaned John and lobbed the wad of paper towels at the bin. He missed. Hilliard shook her head vigorously.

“No, Sheriff. No zombies. But you’ve got to come and see this.”

She turned and stormed down the corridor towards the back parking lot, looking more excited than repulsed which honestly was a welcome change. John trailed after her and found a crowd of his deputies huddled around a car, mumbling excitedly. The Sheriff elbowed his way through and laid eyes on an old muscle car in mint condition. A Pontiac late 60s model if he wasn’t mistaken. He whistled appreciatively.

“Nice car. Whose is it?”

Hilliard shrugged and began opening the trunk.

“I have no idea, sir. I pulled the car over for speeding near the high school and it was a young woman behind the wheel. She seemed sweet at first.”

Hilliard looked a bit sheepish. “You know the sort. With dimples and the whole nine yards. She was a bit nervous, but then again so are most people when we stop them, so I didn’t think much of it. She was rooting around for her license and I went to the back to check the trunk, you know because of the out of state license plates, and this big motorcycle came speeding past us. Before I knew what was happening she’d thrown the driver a package of some sort and he just sped off into the night.”

“A _package_? Of what?”

John raised his eyebrows and Hilliard waved her hands around in a manner that inadvertently reminded him of Stiles.

“I have no clue, sir. But considering the arsenal of weapons I found in her trunk, I figured the package had to be something extraordinarly bad.”

“ _Arsenal_?”

Hilliard grinned like the cat that got the canary. “Oh yes. Arsenal. Weaponry, armaments. Call it what you want, but there’s a lot of it.”

John walked to the back and did a double take.

“Is that… - a  _crossbow_?”

 

***

 

Half an hour later, the Sheriff with the aid of three of his deputies had catalogued the content of the trunk. Aside from an alarming amount of military grade weapons, they’d found three crossbows of varying size, a knife collection that frankly put Dexter Morgan to shame and a perplexing assortment of what appeared to be herbs and spices of unknown origin. Or drugs. He wasn’t ruling anything out at this point. If the package that got away was somehow worse than this, he suspected it had to at the very least arm nuclear warheads.

John rolled his shoulders and felt some joints pop. He needed a good night’s sleep. Badly. Or a steady drip of caffeine intravenously.

“Well,” he said. “I think it’s time I had a talk with this Katniss Everdeen.”

Deputy Hilliard snorted. “Good luck with that, sir. I doubt she’ll talk. She clammed up the moment she was busted and a search of the car did not turn up any form of identification. We’ve taken her prints, but she might not be in the system.”

“I’ll give it a go, just in case,” said John and headed for the interrogation room with almost a spring to his step. As bad as it was to know that there were weapon crazy people like this running around Beacon Hills, it was still refreshingly normal. He’d take gun violations over occult grave robbers any day.

The Sheriff swiped his card and the door to the interrogation room clicked open with a soft beep. The first thing he noticed was her long dark braid and he suppressed a smile. Katniss Everdeen indeed.

She must have heard him enter, but she didn’t even start or flinch. In John’s experience, even completely innocent people brought in to give statements became nervous and jumpy as soon as an officer entered the room. This young woman appeared completely unmoved. Clearly a professional, he concluded darkly. Maybe even ex-military judging by the weapons.

“I hear you’re refusing to identify yourself,” said John in his most authoritarian voice, “but I’m still going to introduce myself. I’m Sheriff Stilinski of Beacon Hills County and I’m awfully interested in knowing why you felt the need to bring enough firepower to arm a platoon into this town.”

It was barely noticeable, but her shoulders tensed up and her grip on the armrest tightened visibly, making her knuckles white in the stark light. John strode purposefully past her fully intent on making her talk so this day wouldn’t be a total bust.

The chair scraped against the linoleum floor when he pulled it out and he took his time getting into the seat. He never rushed these things. The longer they had to wait, the more silence in the room the more nervous they became.  Automatically his hand switched on the voice recorder and he let the clipboard with Hilliard’s arrest report fall to the table with a thud.

She kept her head bowed, staring stonily into her lap. It was obviously a very beautiful young woman, the Sheriff noted. Soft features, fair skin.

“I know you’ve been read you rights, and I assume you’re smart enough to realize you’re in a world of trouble. Your best option is to cooperate fully.”

Her head was still down, but the hunch to her shoulders was more noticeable, as if she’d realized she was stuck but didn’t like it. The Sheriff grinned internally. This wouldn’t be so difficult after all. Deputy Hilliard clearly needed to revisit ‘Interrogation 101’.

“So,” he said tilting his head in an attempt to catch her eye. “Why don’t you give me your name and let’s take it from there?”

She laughed mirthlessly taking him slightly aback. Slowly she lifted her chin and soon John was met with a pair of startlingly brown eyes and a set of deep dimples he knew all too well.

“ _Allison_?”

“Hello, Sheriff Stilinski,” she said sweetly, although there was little warmth behind it. “It’s been a while.”

 


	8. Melissa

 

Melissa stepped out of the bathroom feeling at least marginally refreshed. A nice hot soak in the bathtub had been just the thing she needed. Warm water, sandalwood soap and soothing tones from the Relaxation Chillout CD Scott had given her last Christmas had helped to drain some of the tension. She could breathe again, at least for tonight and she might even get a good night’s sleep.

Walking down the corridor, she heard Scott rooting around in his room. His apprenticeship with Deaton was almost over and, if he passed his final exams, he would soon be moving out. The notion terrified her more than she let on, but she supposed most parents experienced the same thing. She’d heard tales of empty nest syndrome before, but never really given much thought to it. Ignorance was bliss after all. Sadly, even ignorance eventually ended.

It had just been the two of them for so long that the idea of being left alone in this big house seemed unimaginable. Scott had suggested she sell it and buy an apartment. It made a world of sense, yet she’d never do it. This was the house where she’d grown up. It was her childhood as much as her adult life. It was part of her, and despite the sometimes-overwhelming costs of keeping up with repairs and mortgages, it was worth it.

One day Scott would settle down with a family of his own. When that time came the house would be his. She’d toyed with the idea of giving him the house now, but had dismissed it. Scott wasn’t ready for that yet, something Melissa was strangely grateful for. He’d been forced to grow up faster than normal when he was bitten. Becoming an alpha at the age of 17 had been hard with more downs than ups the first few years. He should be able to spend a few more years without the responsibility of a household to add to his worries.

She listened outside his door for a few moments, soaking in his presence. He’d begun the process of going through his room, sorting out what to keep and what to throw out. He was singing slightly off-key. Melissa grinned softly. For all his alphaness he couldn’t hold a tune to save his life.

Melissa finally managed to tear herself away and detoured into her bedroom to get her favorite pair of slippers; the fluffy pink ones with bunny ears that had been a Christmas present from John the year before. She grinned. They had always been close; the McCalls and the Stilinskis, ever since the boys were young. The loss of Claudia and her own trouble with Scott’s dad had only added to the friendship between John and her over the years; deepened it. In many ways, they had raised Scott and Stiles together, and the boys really were like brothers.

Melissa padded down the stairs heading for the kitchen, and smiled as she passed a row of photos of the boys from kindergarteners to the grown men they were today. Their bond had been fortified into something even stronger the night Scott was bitten. Stiles could’ve turned tail and run in the other direction. Most people would’ve. Stiles was not most people. Never had been. As annoying, blunt and trying as Stiles Stilinski could be, she was enormously thankful for his loyalty and his smarts. Who knew where Scott would be without him. She was just endlessly happy that she’d never find out. She feared that would be a much bleaker outcome.

While the bite had brought Scott closer to Stiles and her own relationship with the both of them had also deepened after she’d been made aware of the shady going-ons in Beacon Hills, it had sadly had the opposite effect on Stiles’ relationship with his dad. Her own dealings with John had suffered as well. Lies tended to do that. Keeping secrets was hard; the intricate web of half-truths and creative fibs had taken its toll. Melissa had been a helpless witness to John and Stiles’ close bond crumbling as the years passed.

Melissa had tried, on more than one occasion to reason with Stiles, but he had been adamant. Scott had once confided that Stiles was terrified of losing both his parents, and saw it as his personal mission to keep his dad safe. The obsession with a healthy diet was cute and amusing; the blatant lies about the supernatural elements not so much. Yet it had never been her decision. She recognized that and honored his wishes, well aware that it was only a matter of time before the dam broke. She just hoped they were both good swimmers, otherwise she feared the remnants of their relationship would either drown or be swept away with the current.

She opened a container with leftover lasagna and set the water boiling for a nice cup of tea before bed. She sighed deeply as she waited for the microwave to work its magic. She was always hit with a wave of shame when her thoughts circled back to this topic, because as much as she missed Stiles and his crazy antics, things had quieted down a whole lot ever since he, Scott, Allison, Lydia and Danny had left for college. It had been a rogue couple of years in the wake of the Alpha pack and Scott becoming a True Alpha. She’d never truly understood what Allison, Scott and Stiles had done that night when she’d been tied down in the root cellar with John and Chris Argent, but it had stirred something.

It had certainly taken a toll on the three teenagers, but Stiles most of all, and that had been his own choice. Allison had Chris to lean on, Scott had her. Stiles could’ve had John by his side, but his crusade to keep his dad safe came with a heavy prize. Removing John’s memories of the event effectively erased a source of comfort and understanding for Stiles. Instead, John had endured confusion and strain in the aftermath, but of a different kind.  He’d been clueless about the reasons why Stiles’ brain was more scattered than normal and his temper short. The sarcastic blabbermouth had disappeared and been replaced with a moody and often cruel teenager that had more than one run-in with the law before he graduated high school. Most of it was trespassing and traffic infractions but it was enough to jeopardize John’s position as sheriff on more than one occasion.  

Little did the sheriff know that his son was hardly sleeping and spent most nights reading his way through Dr. Deaton’s extensive library of the supernatural as well as building intricate databases of all his knowledge.

Removing John’s memories had also put unfair responsibility on Scott. It was something he was  wholly unprepared for and never wanted to even attempt. Deciding to do it had been difficult. Melissa knew that had it been anyone but Stiles asking he’d never even consider it. The logistics of it had been tricky as well with neither of them knowing how to even do it. In the end they had to beg Peter Hale for advice, something no one had been comfortable with.

Melissa knew Stiles had asked Derek to return to help, but he’d been unwilling to attempt it, inexperienced as he was on the topic of memory removal. Stiles had been livid, but Derek hadn’t budged. Peter on the other hand had been more than happy to oblige. Melissa had insisted on being present in case anything went wrong, and had spent the entire time marveling how she once upon a time found Peter charming.

To this date, Melissa was still ashamed of her own participation in the sordid affair, but Scott had agreed and it had worked. It was a tough start to his new role of alpha and Scott's schoolwork had suffered. She knew most of the things he was struggling with, and had made allowances, but it had been hard to justify her somewhat lax attitude whenever John voiced his concern. Tension had been brewing on all fronts, and it had truly been a blessing when Derek Hale and his sister Cora returned some months later.

Melissa pulled the boiling kettle off the stove and selected her favorite herbal tea. The Hales had never really explained why they came back. Stiles became suspiciously tightlipped whenever it was brought up and Scott looked like he’d swallowed a barrel full of lemons. She suspected groveling had been involved and had left it at that. Derek had always been somewhat grumpy, and she wouldn’t exactly call him chipper in his current state either but he’d mellowed out and seemed to have found some sort of inner peace. He never officially became part of Scott’s pack, but the bond was there. Some things didn’t need to be put into words.

She was about to clear away her plate and head for bed when a loud banging on the front door pierced the silence. Startled, she almost dropped the plate.

“Oh my god!” she yelped, her heart racing.

The banging continued. In fact it intensified. Melissa glanced at the kitchen clock. Almost midnight. This better be good. In her experience though, midnight callers seldom brought happy tidings.

Just to be on the safe side she grabbed the baseball bat (aluminum of course, their faith in wood had been destroyed a long time ago) and did her best to tiptoe as soundlessly as possible towards the door. For once, she cursed the frosted glass in the windows that prevented her from identifying whoever was causing a ruckus on her front step.

“Come on! Open the door already,” the voice boomed. Although it was hard to hear over the continued banging, Melissa felt something shift and instinctively knew it was safe to open the door.

“I know you’re awake,” continued the voice perturbed. “The lights are on. And whatever did you change the locks for?”

She grabbed the doorknob and gave it a vicious twist. The person on the other side more or less toppled gracelessly into the hall, cursing like a seasoned sailor. She registered it was a somewhat shaggy male with a lot of ink, but not someone she recognized.

“Who are you and what’s with the banging?” snarled Melissa, the bat raised and ready to swing. “It’s midnight, and we own a perfectly nice and functioning door bell.”

The man continued to curse creatively as he got to his feet. There was something very familiar about him, but the tattoos that curled from the collar of his t-shirt, up the back of his neck and down his arms were nothing she’d seen before. She gripped the bat tighter feeling all her nerve-endings activated and ready to react if needed. The person actually laughed and cold water rushed through her veins.

“Seriously, still with the bat?” He got to his feet and grinned cheekily at her in his patented lopsided way. “Well, at least it’s aluminum. Nice grip.”

“ _Stiles_?”

Melissa couldn’t help it. She was gawking. The man in front of her was undoubtedly Stiles Stilinski. The brown eyes with the mischievous glint, the freckles and spatter of moles and the same, often infuriating, smirk. The rest of him however was as if transformed.

He was still tall and lean, but the tattooed biceps (John was going to flip his lid when he saw that) were almost bulging and his hair was longer, curling around the ears and the nape. He looked tousled and tired but otherwise surprisingly good.

“Hey, Melissa. It’s been a while.”

He chewed his lip and kept throwing furtive glances around the hall. Stiles had always been a kid in motion, so the fact that he was fidgeting and squirming did not surprise her. Still, there was something off about. As if he was wired just the tiniest too tight. Everyone knew a wired Stiles was never a good omen. That was basically a pack proverb at this point.  

Melissa rolled her eyes and snorted. “It’s been a while? That’s what you’re going with? That’s your greeting?”

She dropped the bat on the hall futon and smacked his arm irritably. “Firstly, where’s my hug? And secondly, I was under the impression you were doing field studies somewhere in Asia.”

Stiles flailed his arms around and rolled his eyes in a way that she remembered all too well from years of creative lying done on his and Scott’s behalf. It ended in a sheepish shrug. And a hug. Stiles had always been a good hugger.

“Yeah, not so much, no,” he muttered as he slowly released her. “Scott around?”

“You should go see your dad,” she said with a raised finger and a headshake, as she headed for the stairs. She pierced him with her sternest glare.

“He’s worried about you and misses you like crazy. These last couple of weeks have been awful and he’s clueless to half of what goes on here and as a result don’t stand a chance in hell of solving this. I think it is time to clue him in. SCOTT!!! Get down here!”

She turned back to Stiles, rolling her eyes. “I’m surprised he hasn’t heard you coming with all the banging. SCOTT!”

“Jees, mom, what’s with the yelling and the banging? You finally started renovating the kitchen?”

Scott appeared at the top of the stairs wearing his old lacrosse jersey and a pair of flannel pajamas pants.

Melissa snorted. “Why would I start renovations when you’ve offered to do it? Also, this thing did all the banging.” He gestured to Stiles who waved awkwardly.

Scott did a double take, dropping his lopsided jaw almost to his thighs.  

“Stiles?”

“Yeah, buddy. In the flesh,” Stiles grinned cheekily and opened his tattooed arms wide (Melissa would be needing a lot of time to get used to that, thank you very much).

“Wolf not firing on all senses tonight? Thought you would hear me coming a mile away. Or at least smell me.”

Scott snorted and summersaulted down the stairs, stupid flip and all, the show off. Melissa groaned.

“I’ve told you no werewolf power moves in the house. I’m sick and tired of replacing floorboards.”

Scott ignored her and barreled into Stiles. “God, I’ve missed you man,” he mumbled into Stiles’ neck.

“Ah, you missed my musk,” Stiles teased. He was promptly awarded with a smack to the back of the head. Scott pulled out of the hug, and although he was still grinning like a complete idiot, a shadow of seriousness had come over him.

“I did not miss your odor much, dude. Besides your ‘musk’ has changed. You smell different. That would explain why I didn’t pick up on it.”

He looked him over and arched an eyebrow. “You look different, too. I never noticed the tats when we Skyped, not with all the hipster scarfs you always wore. Isaac was starting to become jealous, dude.  Why didn’t you tell me? Or better yet show me?”

Stiles shrugged. “Wanted to impress you in real life. Mission accomplished.”

“Well, color me impressed,” muttered Scott who was actually poking at the tattoo on Stiles’ left arm, going as far as pulling at his t-shirt to get a better look. “How big is this thing?”

“Bigger than any of yours, let’s leave it at that for now.”

Melissa was suddenly officially back in the conversation.

“Excuse me? Scott, do you have more than one tattoo?”

Stiles suddenly looked 15 years old again, realizing he had just plunged his best friend headfirst into trouble.

“Never mind that, mom,” muttered Scott casting Stiles a murderous look. Stiles had thrown his hands up in his “oh-crap-what-did-I-just-do” move that was always amusing, but never actually managed to get anyone out of trouble.

“He got a few new ones senior year,” supplied Stiles toothily obviously having realized there was no getting out of it with any sort of grace or believability. Scott smacked him on the arm causing Stiles to groan in pain. “Not in any places any respectable mother would notice, though.”

“Thank you, that’s enough about that,” Scott scowled, “or I’ll start sharing some of your more shady secrets.” Stiles looked panicked and backed down, hands held high.

“Sorry, bro. Forget it. By the way, Melissa, I was totally kidding about the tattoos. He got the others when he was 20, yeah. Scout’s honor. Also, totally not on his ass. Or crotch area.”

He massaged his arm while pouting like a toddler. “No need to hit me with wolf power, dude. It’s not like you could keep it from her forever.”

Melissa shook her head. “Forget about the tattoos. Unless they’re Nazi emblems I don’t really care. I do however care to know why you are banging on our door in the middle of the night when you’re supposed to be somewhere in Asia?”

Stiles sobered up immediately and sank down on the futon, running his hand absentmindedly through his hair. His leg was bouncing nonstop tapping out an uneven rhythm. Melissa fought the urge to swat at it.

“Okay, so during our last few Skype-calls it became pretty clear to us that you were worried about something,” Stiles began tentatively. “You never said anything outright, but seriously, Scott, you’re a crap liar. Your face is like an open book.”

Melissa had to concede that. Over the years, Scott had embraced the Alpha position and all it entailed, but he always let Lydia, Stiles or Derek negotiate if needed. Hell, even she had helped out once with a rouge Kelpie. That had not been a fun night. The stains had never come out of her favorite pair of jeans.

“So,” Stiles fidgeted nervously, “obviously I had to find out what was going on, so I contacted Lydia.”

Scott groaned.

“That sneaky little  _bi_ … banshee.”

Stiles leveled Scott with a glare. “Hey now, don’t get mad at Lydia for doing what you should’ve done. The deal was you contact me if something came up, remember.”

Scott’s brow furrowed in obvious displeasure, but did not push the issue.

“Fine, I won’t yell at Lydia. She’s on her way back, by the way.”

Stiles whole face lit up and Melissa mentally rolled her eyes. The guy was still obviously smitten with the Martin-girl. It was oddly comforting to find that at least some things hadn’t changed.

“Brilliant. She should prove helpful. But first, you kind of need to help me out with this tiniest little favor.”

Scott rolled his eyes. “Why am I suddenly wary? Those words never lead to anything good. You’re idea of favors are very different from mine.”

Stiles flailed his arms around in a familiar fashion that made him look years younger. “Where’s the trust, man?”

Scott snorted. “I trust it involves some sort of trouble and I’m betting laws at least need to be bent if not broken.”

Stiles pulled one of his many grimaces and Melissa braced herself.

“Well, you don’t have to break any laws, Scotty my boy. Because you see the laws have already been broken. You just have to, you know, bail someone out. Of jail.”

“What! Who?” yelled Melissa and Scott in perfect unison. It would have been funny if it weren’t for the fact that jail was not something to laugh at.

“Bro, you’re not going to like what I’m about to tell you,” Stiles muttered darkly and Melissa felt something powerful shift in her son and his eyes glowed a deep red.

Seconds later another floorboard was destroyed.

 


	9. Allison

 

Allison felt calm. Which was odd. She had no good reason to be this calm. For Christ’s sake, she’d just been arrested. Still, her pulse was steady, her face the perfect mask of serenity and a small smile tugged at her lips, exposing her dimples. Natos would be proud.

Stiles’ dad however was, despite valiant efforts, not calm.

Allison had never really had the opportunity to observe Sheriff Stilinski for any length of time. He’d pulled her over once, but she’d been upset at the time, crying and wasn’t in any fit state to make intelligible observations. She remembered him as firm yet kind. Now that she had his undivided attention, it was quite amusing to catalogue all the similarities he shared with his son. Like how he ran his hands over his face the more frustrated he became, not to mention the roll of the eyes. Clearly, she was frustrating him quite profoundly.

“Allison,” he said imploringly. “I know you’re a smart girl, so I won’t bore you with a recap of how epically bad the mess you’re in is. We’ve run the plates on your car, and it turns out it’s not your car at all. In fact”, he perused the notepad in front of him with a frown, “it belongs to a Mr. Jenkins of Arizona State who reported it stolen eight days ago.”

He dropped the pad, leaned back into the rickety chair and rubbed his eyes in yet another patented Stilinski-fashion.

“A stolen car is bad enough, but adding the frightening amount of weaponry found in the trunk of said car, and we’re talking serious jail time. You’re not underage anymore, Allison.”

“I’d like my phone call, please.”

Allison looked the Sheriff straight in the eyes and he visibly deflated.

“Why am I not surprised?” he muttered darkly, crossing his arms in front of him looking quite intimidating. Allison had faced feral alphas and lived to tell. She was not easily ruffled.  

“You’re entitled to a call, but first please consider doing yourself a massive favor and just come clean about the weapons at least. I know your dad is some sort of registered arms dealer, but we have no record of you registering for any kind of weapon. In addition, there isn’t a serial number in sight on any of the guns and crossbows we found. Not exactly a promising start.”

Allison smiled demurely and folded her handcuffed hands on top of the table. “Would you believe me if I said we traded our car for that one and knew nothing about it being stolen, and never thought to check what was in the trunk?” she asked sweetly. Sheriff Stilinski snorted.

“No, I would not, but nice try. Furthermore, who exactly are you referring to when you say ‘ _our_ car’? My deputy reported that you had an accomplice that sped off with some sort of object. Care to elaborate?”

Allison just stared back unblinking. The sheriff hid it well, but she could still see disappointment in his eyes.

“Well, it was worth a try,” she said placidly. “And I didn’t say our car; you must’ve heard me wrong.”

She actually did startle when a loud bang pierced the silence and was surprised to see that the Sheriff had slammed his hands on the table quite forcefully. He did not look the slightest bit amused. She expected him to start yelling, but instead he leaned forward, almost whispering.

“I’m willing to let the speeding ticket disappear down my very well-functioning shredder, but make no mistakes, I have no grounds to let you go. I know you dated Scott for some time and is friends with Stiles, but even if I wanted to, I can’t let that overrule the law. It’s late, and I have no choice but to keep you overnight and take you down to the courthouse tomorrow to file the charges and get the matter of bail settled. Unless you can come up with a good explanation for the car and the weapons, I will be forced to charge you on both accounts.”

He pierced her with a steely look, a look she had seen many times on Stiles during their training. It was a no-nonsense kind of look, and further provocations would not be in her favor. She remained silent.

“Last chance, Allison,” said the sheriff tiredly. “Tell me who you’re working with and where to find this person, plus where the guns come from, and I will do my best to get you a reduced sentence.”

It was a tempting offer, but it wouldn’t solve the issue at hand. If she started talking, it would take all night, and the sheriff would want proof she couldn’t provide. Scott, Derek and Stiles, perhaps even Lydia would be implicated, and that would leave the town utterly unprotected. She sighed deeply. She didn’t have any choice but to stick it out. Still, she needed to make that call. Stiles had the equipment, but lacked the key and the instructions. Leaving him high and dry for the night could easily have dire consequences.

“I’d like to make that call now.”

Sheriff Stilinski deflated visibly, but nodded affirmatively. He left the room for no more than a minute and returned with a cordless landline phone. It was Allison’s turn to snort.

“Are you going to trace my call, Sheriff?” she asked calmly as she accepted the proffered phone. “Do you have a warrant for that?”

He crossed his arms and smiled smugly down on her. “No, it’s not wired. I know the law better than you and I abide by it. If you want to make a call, this is the phone you get, but I can assure you I will be *69’-ing the number afterwards. No law against that.”

She had to tip her hat to him for that. Better not call her dad, then. Besides, it looked like he intended to stay for the call. Well, let him, she thought defiantly and dialed the number. It rang twice before someone answered.

“It’s me,” she said hurriedly, silently praying the one on the other end would keep quiet. She wasn’t entirely sure she could believe that it wasn’t bugged.

“They’re holding me overnight and I will not be processed for bail until tomorrow. I’ll be fine. In the bottom of your backpack, you’ll find a book called Ëlyös. It has a lock, I think it’s in your power to break it. Inside you’ll find a bar of soap with an imprint of the key. 2 cc should do it.”

She hung up the phone and handed it to the Sheriff who was looking at her like she’d just sprouted wings, antlers and was speaking in Finnish.

“Thank you very much. Feel free to *69. The call I placed was to a burner phone that at this very moment has already been disposed of.”

She’d never seen the Sheriff look quite this lost, and it broke her heart. He didn’t deserve this, and as soon as it was safe they really should let him in on the strange events happening in Beacon Hills.

“I’m sorry,” she added apologetically. It didn’t seem like he’d heard her.

 


	10. Sheriff Stilinski

 

John never thought he’d see the day when he’d prefer zombies to actual criminals. But then again he’d never thought the day would come when zombies would be considered a possibility. Period. Not that John truly believed Greenberg’s crazy theory, but at least it was safe to conclude that whoever was responsible was no ordinary run of the mill bad guy. In addition, when the actual criminals turned out to be your son’s friends, then perhaps zombies wasn’t so bad after all.

It was a conscious effort just to put one foot in front of the other, and halfway to his office, the Sheriff had to stop to collect himself. He leaned heavily against the wall and willed away the dark spots that were dancing before his eyes. He was dead tired, he hadn’t eaten in god knows how long and his small Podunk town was falling apart at the seams.

He glanced at the list of police statistics he’d been so proud of just weeks prior. Now it mocked him every time he passed the noticeboard. Unless he could get a handle on this situation, he would be lucky to be in office by the end of the year. Politicians were already sharpening their swords in the wings, muttering threats. For the first time since he pinned the sheriff star to his shirt, John wondered if it perhaps would be for the best. To retire and live out the rest of his life doing something completely different that didn’t involve animal attacks, ritualistic killings and finding good people on the wrong side of the law.

Seeing Allison on the other side of his interrogation table had quite frankly thrown his whole world off-kilter. The fact that it was the sweet and shy Allison Argent was almost unbelievable. It just didn’t add up. But there it was. The world had gone to shits, and he did not know what to do about it.

Through sheer force of will, John dragged his feet down the corridor to his office and shut the door behind him. He dropped the case file on his desk and picked up his cell phone, dialing Chris Argent’s number. Calling the parents was never fun. Calling someone you knew personally and almost considered a friend. Heartbreaking.

It went straight to voice mail. John left a hasty message for him to call him back as soon as possible. He glanced at the clock. Almost one in the morning. He should head home to get some sleep, but having Allison locked up in one of the cells was weighing on him. Perhaps he should call Scott.

In the end, he decided against it. As far as he knew, they weren’t even together at this point. If so, John was certain Melissa would have mentioned it.

Instead, he did a halfhearted attempt at clearing his desk, grabbed Allison’s arrest report and his untouched lunch. Perhaps he’d eat some of it on his way home. The Sheriff bid the nightshift a hasty farewell and exited out the back.

On his way to the squad car, he couldn’t help but take a glance at the stolen car Allison had been caught in. It really was a beautiful piece of machinery. Not only that, it was a beautiful piece of machinery with its trunk open. Someone was clearly rummaging through it without permission.

John groaned and reached for his sidearm. Would this day never end? Stealthily, he crept towards the car. He could hear muffled mumbling from behind the open trunk, which meant more than one perpetrator. He really should call for backup.

“This is Sheriff Stilinski,” he announced loudly. “Please raise your hands above your head and step away from the car.”

A creative string of curses seeped out from behind the car and he heard the rustle of clothes.

“Do as I say immediately,” he commanded. What little patience he had was long gone by now.

“Hold your horses,” a gruff voice called out and few seconds later two hands reached up in perfect unison, both holding FBI badges. The Sheriff groaned, lowered his weapon and fastened it securely to his belt again.

“Agents Smith and Wesson, I presume,” he said with heavy platitude. “What brings you lurking about in the middle of the night? I thought you were busy with the grave cases. Yet here you are, tampering with evidence without permission. I must admit I fail to see the connection between the two cases. Care to enlighten me?”

The agents exchanged looks, shrugged but remained silent. Great. Just what he needed. Federal agents with sticks up their butts. “In addition,” he continued dryly, not bothering to hide his annoyance. “I would appreciate it if you in the future would report to the front desk when you arrive. It’s protocol.”

One of the agents; not the tall one but the grumpy one, stepped forward with a false smile plastered to his stubbly face. He had abandoned the suit in favor of jeans and a leather jacket, the sheriff noted. The taller one was still prodding around in the trunk wielding a flash light.

“Sheriff,” he said with a nod. “Interesting car you have here. May I ask where you got it?” John arched an eyebrow.

“You may. May I in return ask why you want to know. Are you per chance a muscle car enthusiast? If so, this visit could’ve surely waited until normal office hours.”

That brought out a snort from the tall one and he smirked cheekily at his partner. He was awarded with a steely glare of doom, but it did not seem to faze him in the slightest. Long time partners, John noted. Good for them.

Agent Smith scratched behind his ear and a small smile tugged at his lips.

“As a matter of fact, I own a 1967 Chevrolet Impala myself, so yeah; I do appreciate a nice car like this. But,” he motioned for John to follow, “in this case I’m more interested in the content of the car. And the driver for that matter.”

“Why?”

The agents shared a look and what was obviously a wordless conversation carried out with excessive eyebrows and rolling of eyes. After a few moments agent Wesson spoke.

“I see that you’ve removed the content of the trunk, but going by the gun powder residue and the traces of monkshood and mistletoe I assume you found a shitload of weapons and herbs.”

John crossed his arms and stared at agent Wesson unable to hide his surprise. He knew for a fact that the report wasn’t even typed up yet. Still they knew that just by looking in the empty trunk?

“I’m sensing there’s a big part of the puzzle I’m not getting. Care to elaborate?”

The grumpy one seemed to be losing his patience. ‘Welcome to the club’ John thought sardonically, somewhat enjoying his frustration.

“We think we have an idea about the incident in the woods. If we’re right it’s somehow tied to the owner of this car. We would like to speak to him. Or her.”

John snorted.

“Well, firstly it’s a she. Secondly, she’s got nothing to do with that. I know her personally; she’s one of my son’s best friends and would never dig up graves and perform satanic rituals in the woods. Also, I’m fairly certain she arrived in town tonight.”

Agent Wesson tilted his head and pierced John with a pair of puppy dog eyes.

“I’m inclined to agree with you. In fact,” He glanced at his partner who shrugged. “We believe she might be trying to stop it.”

John’s eyes bugged out and he shook his head in disbelief.

“No way. You’re way off on this one, agents. She’s a college student for Christ sake. There is no way Allison Argent is moonlighting as a detective of grave desecrations.”

“Did you say  _Argent_?”

The stubbly one pierced the Sheriff with a startlingly pair of green eyes. John nodded.

“Yeah, I did. Why?”

“Take us to her,  _right away_!”

 


	11. Scott

 

They’d parked half a block from the Sheriff station. The streets were empty and abandoned, as they should be in the middle of the night on a weekday. They had been sitting there for almost fifteen minutes while Scott checked his bank account since he had no clue how much he needed in order to bail out Allison. In that time, just one lone car has driven by.

Everything was quiet. Even Stiles.

Scott glanced at his best friend. Stiles was slumped deep down in his seat, obviously trying to stay covert, yet still craning his neck to stare at the station, his curiosity in high gear as always. Scott was fascinated and a little wary. He hadn’t seen Stiles for close to seven months and a lot had changed. Not just the tattoos.

“So, you tried Chris first, right?” Scott asked and Stiles nodded.

“Yeah, the apartment was dark and no one answered when I buzzed. His phone goes straight to voicemail. You don’t know where his is, do you?”

Scott shook his head. “Sorry, no. He’s never been my biggest fan, and now that Allison has been away we’ve been keeping out of each other’s hair.”

“Damn,” Stiles muttered under his breath. Scott noticed he was jittery and kept squirming in his seat. That part was familiar at least. Stiles was never completely still, but still it felt off somehow.

“You alright?”

“What?” Stiles was chewing nervously on his nails.

“Did you forget to take your Adderall or something? You’re squirming like you’ve got ants in your pants, dude.”

Stiles shook his head grinning. “Nah, I stopped taking Adderall months ago. It kept interfering with the training. Natos threw them all out.”

“He did?” Scott raised his eyebrows. Stiles shrugged and resumed the nail-biting.

“Yeah, I was having some trouble accessing the spark and he thought the medication might be interfering.”

“Did it?” He knew some people grew out of their ADHD, but Stiles hadn’t seemed to be one of them. The daily Adderall had been with them as a long as Scott could remember.

Stiles grinned lopsidedly. “To a certain extent. It didn’t solve the problem, not completely. But I didn’t get any worse either, so I figured I could do without. I wonder if my dad’s in there.”

Scott shrugged.

“I don’t know, buddy. I could call mom, she usually has a pretty good handle on his schedule from what I’ve gathered. He’s over for dinner pretty regularly. Do you think there’s anything, you know, going on with them?”

Stiles barked out a laugh. “Hell if I know. I hardly talk to my dad at all these days, and when I do, all he wants to talk about is my studies and what I’m up to. Which of course I can’t tell him jack shit about, and so I keep making up these elaborate lies about countries and places I’ve never set foot in.” He sighed deeply. “I’m so tired of lying.”

“So stop.”

Stiles pinned him with a calculating look, much too world-weary for a 20 year old.

“Yeah, I probably should. It’s just, I know my dad. He’s a lot like me in many ways, and if he knew, he’d run headfirst into danger even more then he does, and I’d never get a moments peace of mind.”

Scott chewed his lip and fiddled nervously with his sleeve.

“Maybe. Maybe not. I used to think the exact same thing regarding my mom, but it actually made things so much better. She’s aware of the dangers now, and can take appropriate measures. Besides, you worry anyway. If he’s in the know, at least you don’t have to lie.”

Stiles shrugged, squirmed and slumped down deeper into the seat. “I’ll think about it,” he mumbled almost inaudibly, and if Scott didn’t have his werewolf hearing, he probably would’ve missed it. Still, it was the closest he’d ever come to making Stiles see reason, and he smiled widely.

“Oh, shut up,” Stiles moaned, accompanied with one of his patented neck spasms. “I’m not making any promises.”

“I didn’t say anything,” said Scott and dazzled his best friend with a chipper kind of smile that he knew tended to annoy Stiles the most.

“Maybe not, but you were thinking it. You think really loudly, you know.”

They both jumped visibly when a shrill ringing suddenly pierced the air. Scott actually clamped his hands over his ears. He still had trouble adjusting his hearing, especially with sounds that took him off guard.

Stiles started to dig around in the backpack wedged between his legs, all the while swearing creatively. He pulled out a cheap looking flip phone and quickly opened it. He didn’t say a word which was slightly odd, but Scott had no trouble identifying Allison’s voice on the other end, her voice firm and oddly clinical.

He reached for the phone, but Stiles waved him off, crammed the phone between his ear and shoulder and started rummaging through the backpack again. He pulled out a battered looking book with a sturdy lock that frankly looked like it belonged on the set of a Harry Potter movie.

Scott heard the click that marked the end of Allison’s monologue and was about to speak when Stiles shoved the phone in his face.

“Be a good sport and put your mighty wolf powers to use, buddy. I need this phone decimated pronto.”

“Excuse me?” Scott glanced from the burner phone to Stiles and back again.

“You’re excused,” muttered Stiles, “as long as you crush that piece of junk and toss it out the window. I don’t think my dad will be able to trace the call, but I’m not risking it.”

Scott might be the alpha but more often than not, he felt utterly lost. Especially where Stiles, and certainly Lydia, were concerned. They tended to be miles ahead of him, and this was obviously such an instant. However, if there was one thing he’d learned the hard way over the years, it was to trust Stiles’ gut feelings. As crazy as his theories often were, they tended to be at least marginally right. Therefore, he did as instructed and tossed the crushed remains out the window.

“That’s a good wolfie,” said Stiles with an absentminded pat on his shoulder. Scott rolled his yes.

“I heard what Allison said, but it didn’t make a lick of sense. Is that the book she mentioned?”

Stiles nodded. “I didn’t even know I had it in here. She must have put it in there last night when I was asleep.”

Scott felt his inner wolf growl and a surge of jealousy ripped through him. Stiles arched his eyebrows.

“What’s with the growling, buddy?” On the other hand, perhaps not just his inner wolf.

“You  _spent the night_  with Allison?”

 

It came out in his alpha voice even if that wasn’t his intention. His eyes were probably flashing red as well. Yes, definitely flashing red judging by Stiles’ baffled expression.

“Come on, Scott. Chill it with the alpha-crap. You know there’s nothing between Allison and me. Never have been and never will. The only thing we’ve ever shared is you, dude. And not in a fun _ménage à trois_ kind. The last couple of months we’ve shared a tutor, but that’s it.”

Scott felt his claws lengthening despite his efforts to keep calm. Stiles pinched his nose in obvious frustration.

“And here I thought Derek was a bad alpha with control issues. This is borderline stupid, Scott. We’ve shared a motel room on the way back here to save money. And always with twin beds, so stop the growling. I might need your werewolf strength to break this lock…. Ah, nope, would you look at that, I did it myself.”

Scott’s focus shifted from wanting to claw at Stiles to silent astonishment. He’d gotten a good look at the lock, and although the book itself looked old as shit, the lock had seemed pretty robust. Argent-level robust as a matter of fact. Yet there it was, open in Stiles’ lap. Without a mark on it to boot.

“Did you just _Houdini_ that lock open?”

Stiles was grinning ear to ear. “I think I kind of did. Didn’t really know I had it in me to be honest, I’m not feeling all that focused at the moment.”

He shrugged and opened the book only to reveal most of its pages had been cut out to create a hollow room containing an ordinary bar of soap. Stiles removed it and pried it apart to reveal a perfect imprint of a small key. Scott whistled.

“Why does it suddenly feel like we’re in an episode of  _Prison Break_? Do we need to melt a plastic comb or something? And what’s the key for anyway?”

 

Stiles waved dismissively. “Oh, just something pertaining to my training regimen. Allison’s been keeping track of it for me.”

 

There was a slight flutter to Stiles’ heartbeat and Scott narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Seriously?”

Stiles nodded and arched an eyebrow never breaking eye contact. “Yeah, sounds crazy, I know. But it’s the truth, you can even ask Allison for confirmation when you bail her out tomorrow.”

Well, Stiles was not lying. His heartbeat was steady now, but something still felt off. Why such intricate precautions for Stiles’ training? Was his spark dangerous somehow? Scott was not convinced.

“All this for your training notes? And why all the fuzz with the key if you can just magic it open anyway? That doesn’t make sense, dude.”

Stiles laughed and shook his head.

“Well, aside from the training stuff, the box also contains a pretty massive bestiary that I’ve been working on for the past seven months as well as a selection of rare, and I mean really rare herbs and shit that not even Deaton could get a hold of. Therefore, we had a bit of help to put a spell of sorts on it so that it only opens with a key. I can try to Houdini it all night and it wouldn’t do a lick of good.”

Scott groaned and swatted his shoulder. “Dude, why didn’t you lead with that? You made me all suspicious as shit there for a moment.”

“Is this pound on Stiles day? Stop hitting me, I don’t have magic healing powers unlike some.”

He was massaging his shoulder and Scott felt marginally guilty. Sometimes he really didn’t know his own strength.

“So, will this bestiary tell us more about what’s happening here? I guess you heard that Derek found a sacrificial altar by the Nemeton the other day.”

Stiles nodded grimly. “Yeah, I heard about that, creepy stuff. Honestly, the honest answer is I’m not quite sure. I’ve collected a lot of data, but haven’t been able to sort through it all. Natos has been keeping me busy and leisure time seems to be a foreign concept to him. But everything is in an external drive and I was hoping to get a head start on it. And now that Lydia’s on her way, we can share the burden.”

“I’ll help too,” Scott offered feeling a sliver of hope rise to the surface. Stiles snorted. “What?” asked Scott indignantly? “I can read.”

“Yeah, buddy, you can read. But tell me, how’s your Archaic Latin these days?”

Scott groaned. “Why do hunters insist on coding everything in that dead language?”

Stiles shrugged but didn’t offer any more comments. His eyebrows were knitted together in a deep furrow something Scott knew all too well meant that there were still obstacles that needed to be tackled.

“Just tell me,” he sighed resignedly. “What’s the hiccup?”

Stiles squirmed and looked particularly sheepish. “Does your mom happen to have a lot of silver lying around that she might not object to going missing? Like forever?”

“What? What? Why do you need silver? And no, my mom would definitely object to silver going missing.”

“Dammit!” Stiles appeared to be doing a mental inventory but judging by the dejected look on his face the outcome was not good.

“I don’t think we have all that much silver at our house either. My mom preferred gold… I need it for the key. It kind of has to be silver otherwise the lock won’t open.”

Scott furrowed his brow. “Wait, we do have a really fucking ugly candelabra that mom inherited from one of her aunts. I think its silver, that’s the only reason she kept it.” Stiles perked up immediately.

“Great, let’s get it! And on the way we need to come up with a way for us to melt it down.”

“Man,” Scott muttered, “our problems are weird.”

They drove in silence for a few minutes. Then it came to him. God, why didn’t he think of it immediately? He dug out his phone and started scrolling through his contacts.

“Who’re you calling,” asked Stiles curiously. “You think of something?” Scott grinned from ear to ear.

“Yeah, I’m calling Derek. They have this oven at the café, it’s hot as fuck.” He almost lost control of the steering wheel when Stiles made a mad dash for the phone, knocking it to the floor.

“Hey, what did you do that for? You better pray the phone’s not broken, it’s almost new.”

Stiles fumbled around for the phone and handed it over with an apologetic face. “Sorry, buddy. I think it survived.  Eh, could you like, not call Derek? Can’t we ask Cora to meet us instead?”

Scott sighed deeply. Sure, Stiles and Derek tended to get into some very annoying discussions and more often than not disagreed about more or less everything, but they’d never avoided each other. In fact you could argue they tended to gravitate to each other in a weird “I hate you but I will still save you” way.

He contemplated pressing the issue but quickly decided against it. It was two in the morning, he felt a headache coming on and this business with Allison in jail and forging of keys was more than enough for him to handle. Scott therefore chose to ignore Stiles’ strange new Derek phobia.

“Sure, I’ll call Cora,” he said and pressed dial.

 


	12. Cora

 

Sometimes Cora hated her damned werewolf hearing.

Had she been 100 % human she probably would’ve slept right through the call from Scott. Unfortunately, her ears worked perfectly well, and the vibration had broken her beauty sleep,  just like a very annoying bee buzzing right by her ear. She’d been tempted to ignore it for all of twelve seconds. She was dead tired, had gone to bed much too late and needed to be up much too early. However, phone calls in the middle of the night tended to be of the more serious kind, and besides she was curious as hell.

She was definitely regretting it now. Freaking two thirty in the bloody night and she has to be up in about three hours and needed her precious beauty sleep. Worse yet, no one was about to be killed. Except her mood, of course. Scott knew all too well that a moody Cora Hale wasn’t to be trifled with so this better be incredibly important.

With her brain only at minimum capacity, she contemplated murder as she trudged down the stairs to unlock the back door. It was lucky for Scott that she felt too tired to act out any of her creative death scenarios. Not that she would get away with any of them, but at least thoughts of murder and mangling helped keep her awake.

She spotted silhouettes outside the door and stupidly assumed Isaac was with Scott. Flipping the lock open, Scott piled in and – good god! Was that _Stiles_? Well, now she was definitely awake!

“STILINSKI!”

Cora stood motionless for a few seconds and felt her jaw drop. Stiles waved awkwardly in that spastic fashion that was all him, and if it wasn’t for that she probably would not have believed her eyes.

“You absolute _moron_!”

Feeling her momentary paralysis slip away, she bounded over and hit him hard on his upper arm, making him groan.

“What the hell? This definitely is ‘pound on Stiles day’! And I did not get that memo.  If I had I would’ve worn Kevlar. Werewolves packs a pretty good punch.”

He actually looked almost hurt and Cora felt her flaring anger spill to the floor and evaporate. In two swift steps she barreled into him and hugged him tight. She hadn’t fully realize until now how much she’s missed this sarcastic little shit.

“Auch, auch, watch it, Hale! Don’t squish the human,” mumbled Stiles into her hair but Cora wasn’t fooled.

“Shut it, Stiles and just enjoy it,” she whispered uncharacteristically somber, and she felt him relax and return the hug.

“You absolute shit. You never called, never wrote, not a single message, skype call or e-mail. Why the silent treatment?”

She pulled away slowly and met Stiles’ eyes, surprised at how hurt she really was. They’d always gotten along surprisingly well, even from the start. Hell, when she first returned to Beacon Hills she’d actually had a kind of crush on him. He was this fascinating enigma right from the start with his obvious humanity, and yet he still rushed headfirst into danger without a second thought. He’d even saved her life, and she was forever grateful. After Derek and she went away after the whole debacle with the Darach and the Alpha pack, the feelings had dwindled and died. Derek had returned to Beacon Hills a few months later, something obviously drawing him to this town despite all the bad memories. Cora had stayed on and finished high school on the east coast, and only returned when she realized she was not motivated for college.

But even if her romantic feelings for Stiles Stilinski had died, she still cared deeply for him and considered him one of her best friends. Stiles actually stroked her hair before his hand found hers and squeezed it reassuringly.

“I’m sorry, Cora,” he mumbled. “My training has been vigorous to say the least. They only people I’ve been in contact with regularly are Scott and my dad. Occasionally I’ve been pestered by Lydia, but that’s about it. It wasn’t my intention to shut you out; I just never really got a chance to tell you I would be incommunicado before I left.” He laughed mirthlessly. “Not that I knew that I was actually signing myself up for a mental boot camp from hell.”

She absentmindedly traced one of the tattoos that snaked out from his t-shirt. She was dying to ask about them. To ask about all he’s been through and what he’s learned. But she sensed that this was not the time. His heartbeat was erratic and she could feel him almost vibrate. Clearly something was up that had priority. Something usually did.

“It’s okay,” she said with a smile and Stiles visibly relaxed. “We’ll catch up later. Now what is so goddamn important that you had to get me out of bed in the middle of the night?”

Scott launched into a longwinded tale about Allison, arrests, bail and a mysterious book that contained –  _soap_?

“Excuse me? Soap?”

Evidently she’s not quite awake yet, because that hardly sounded life threatening and worthy of night time excursions. Scott rolled his eyes and continued pacing the length of their rather messy back room. Stiles had sunk down into a chair and was toying with an old looking book.

“No, you’re missing the point,” complained Scott and gestured at Stiles. “Stiles has this box that contains a bestiary and some rather potent herbs that we need to get to. He believes it might hold clues to what’s going on with the Nemeton. It can only be opened with a silver key, and at the moment the only key is dangling around Allison’s neck. And she’s locked up at the sheriff station, and bail can’t be posted until tomorrow. And for obvious reasons, Stiles is not keen on waltzing in there right now.”

Cora nodded and felt small light bulbs flick on in her mind. “Ah, now I get it. The soap contains the key print!” Scott beamed and retrieved a hideous looking candelabra from the bag that’s slung across his shoulder.

“Yes! And it needs to be silver, so we need to like melt down this atrocity in your easy back oven over there.”

As it turned out melting silver was fairly easy. Provide enough heat was not the issue. What caused them the most trouble was finding something to melt it in.

In the end they found a battered old clay pot that Cora honestly didn’t know they owned and most definitely would never use. When the silver was all liquid she happily sacrificed one of her many ladles to get it into the soap.

They were all sitting around literally waiting for the silver to cool and harden when the door to the kitchen banged open startling them all. Poor Scott spilled his cup of freshly brewed tea and did an impressive backflip to avoid getting drenched. It was only moderately effective. Stiles burst out laughing when he landed in rack of mops and dusters and fell squarely on his ass.

“What’s going on here?”

The laugher died down at the sound of Derek’s voice. He was standing in the doorway his arms crossed and an expression of extreme grumpiness firmly in place. The only thing contrasting his look of menace was the tousled bed hair. Cora chuckled. He looked like an overgrown five year old with a temper tantrum.

“Oh relax, Derek,” she said with a smile. “Have some tea. Stiles made it.”

She made a point of gesturing flourishingly in his direction. Derek actually growled. Stiles for his part grinned from ear to ear and waved hello. Derek ignored him and continued addressing his sister.

“Do you,” he began icily, “realize that you’re making an insane ruckus? It sounded like you’re tearing the whole building down. And what on earth are you making at this hour?” He gestured at the oven that was still emitting a wave of heat.

“This actually,” said Stiles and gestured at the lithe silver key that was currently cooling on a lid to one of their many pots and pans. Derek arched an eyebrow in his practiced manner, but before he could ask any more questions (and judging by the curl of his lips he had plenty), Stiles bounded to his feet and snagged the key into a dish towel and pocketed it.

“Right, thanks again Cora for all your help. Scott, my bro, I’ll give you a call later, we should all meet up in a couple of hours after you’ve bailed Allison out and Lydia has arrived.”

He quickly pecked Cora on the cheek and muttered “give my mest to Isaac” with a wink, saluted Derek in a most mocking manner and with a bang of the door Stiles was gone. Derek harrumphed but remained standing, almost as if he’s at a loss for what to do next. Scott cleared his throat and grinned boyishly.

“So, Stiles is back,” he announced unnecessarily and Derek actually rolled his eyes. Cora picked up on his heartbeat and registered it was slightly elevated. Not much, but noticeable. Scott must be picking up on it too, but judging by his face he misjudged the root of Derek’s annoyance.

“Sorry about barging in here, I didn’t even know Stiles was coming. Oh, and,” his tone changed to one of intense worry, “Allison got arrested and we can’t bail her out until about noon tomorrow.”

He slumped down into a chair and Cora wordlessly poured him another cup of tea. Stiles sure has a knack for tea, she mused. She needed to ask him about that later, they should put it on the menu.

“On the bright side, he’s got a new and improved bestiary to work from, that’s what the key was for.”

Derek had been silent since Stiles left, but finally grabbed a seat but refused Cora’s offer of tea.

“What’s wrong with him?” he asked gruffly and Cora was taken aback by the mixture of anger and plain worry in his voice. Scott looked nonplussed and confused.

“With Stiles? There’s nothing wrong with him? Well, nothing more than usual. What do you mean?” Derek shrugged, his shoulders tense and arms ridged.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted through clenched teeth, “but something’s not right. His smell is different. It feels…  _wrong_  somehow. Not like anything I’ve ever smelled before.”

Scott seemed relieved.

“Dude, he’s been tucked away deep in a rain forest for seven months, of course he smells different. What did you expect? Also,” he added with a hint of pride, “he stopped taking his ADHD medicine. Apparently he doesn’t need it anymore. Cool, huh?”

Cora nodded. She’d noticed that Stiles’ smell had changed, but hadn’t thought of it as ‘wrong’. Just different.

“Yeah,” mumbled Derek, a frown etched deep into his forehead. “That’s good, of course it is. But there’s something else, too. His heartbeat is off, and he just felt… wired wrong.”

Scott drained his cup and shrugged again, clearly not worried. His eyes suddenly went wide and he clapped his hands together like an excited kindergartner. Cora somehow hoped Scott would never change, alpha status be damned.

“Oh oh oh, you guys! I totally saw him do it!”

“Do what,” asked Cora while sharing a look with her brother. Scott laughed.

“Magic, you guys. He actually did it, tapped into his spark or whatever. Seems like the training is working, because he just houdinied open this huge lock without even touching it. It was awesome!”

Cora couldn’t help but scrutinize Derek for his reaction. She just knew there was something her brother wasn't letting on, and it clearly involved Stiles. But she didn't really knew what it was. Not for sure anyway.  She has her suspicions of course, but Stiles had seemed perfectly normal when he saw Derek, so whatever it was, it was clearly on Derek’s end.

At Scott’s magical revelation, something ghosted across his face, but it was gone before she could identify it. Relief? Pride? Or anger? It could even be worry.

“Well,” said Scott, gathering his keys and phone. “I’m going home for a few hours of sleep before I need to be at work and then I’m going to try and bail out Allison. We’ll meet back here later when Lydia gets here?”

“Sure,” said Cora, “I’ll be done with my shift at half past two, how about we meet up at say four?”

Scott agreeed and left with a wave. Cora took the time to clean the oven and the counters. Derek just sat there, staring into space.

She headed for the door, thinking she could snag maybe a couple of hours of sleep before she needs to be down here again. Derek did not make any move to get up. Her sister-senses are tingling but she knows him well enough to realize that making him talk was futile. He needed to come to her when he was ready. Given his track record that would probably take years, though.

“You know you can talk to me about anything,” she said quietly, giving him a soft smile. “I’m here for you if you need me.”

She owed him so much, this stoic silent brother of hers that stubbornly insisted on suffering in silence all the time. She was patient with him now. She didn’t used to be. When she first came back she was short-tempered, bitter and ungrateful. But he’d kept his promise, and he’d never left her again. Not without her blessing at least. Derek might seem hard and unreachable, but Cora knew it was a shell; a wall he’d put up to protect himself. Few people managed get through, and she was grateful to be one of them. She suspected Stiles might have hammered a small hole, but for some reason Derek seemed to be trying to patch it up.

“I’m going back to bed,” she added when he didn’t respond. She knew he’d heard her, because his heartbeat jumped the tiniest bit at her words.

“Please think about it, will you. I know you’re the strong silent type, and you might have most people fooled. But I know something is bothering you, and if and when you’re ready, then I’m here waiting.”

As she closed the door behind her, her hearing picked up on his muffled ‘thanks’. Cora went back to bed with a smile on her face.

***

 


	13. Sheriff Stilinski

With the epically shitty day that was yesterday fresh in mind, Sheriff Stilinski deliberately chose to ignore both the mountain of paperwork that had accumulated on his desk in the span of the night, as well as the stack of messages from the mayor demanding an update. He needed to clear his head, to step back from all the gory details, the zombies and the sweet girls locked up on serious weapon charges, and just breathe. To try to see the bigger picture. He was definitely missing something, that much was certain.

Naturally, he couldn’t take the day off. That would just lead to even more of a shitstorm from the mayor’s office. Instead, John got in his car and drove the next state over to look into the cult-incidents Melissa had mentioned. That case was a few years old, but it bore some strange similarities. It was worth checking out, and as an added bonus got him far away from Beacon Hills for the day.

He arrived sometime after noon. After a quick snack at the local diner (Stiles would be scandalized), he met with the local Sheriff to go over the case file in more detail. It was a surprisingly detailed report, and after pouring over it for little over two hours, John felt a sliver of hope that this might all be connected. The case was unsolved, and no arrests were ever made in connection to the grave desecrations in this case either. Still, the sheriff breathed easier looking over the list of suspects. All human. Not a note anywhere suggesting anything slightly out of scientific norms either.

His elation was short-lived. This is now my life, noted John dejectedly. Looking for proof of _human_ crime, and not just looking for proof, period. These days he wouldn’t be surprised to find Fox Mulder brandishing a badge in his face. Those two agents already lurking around could easily belong to some sort of fringe division for all he knew. They certainly were weird enough for it.

Perusing the case files John noticed more and more similarities between this case and the happenings back home. Just like in Beacon Hills, graves were dug up and bodies removed. Some bodies had also been mauled in a similar fashion, and in a few instances, organs had been removed. According to Sheriff Saunders they’d never found an altar like the one in the Preserve. The closest they’d gotten to something like was a wave of cattle mutilations in the weeks that followed the grave destructions. John prayed they’d be spared that.

Looking over a set of photos taken from an abandoned cemetery, John felt something nudge at his subconscious. According to the reports, it had been sprayed down with graffiti within the same time period. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of the symbols painted on the grave stones in blood red ink, but he was certain he’d seen them somewhere before. When he asked Sheriff Saunders about it, he’d shrugged and laughed.

“Oh those, yes I remember. Honestly, I’m not quite sure why that report is filed together with the rest of the case. I’m fairly certain they’re not connected in any way.” He scratched his beard and grinned broadly. “I suppose they’re catalogued together because of the ritualistic feel to them. Hell if I know. Looks kind of satanic, don’t you think?”

Sheriff Stilinski asked to get a copy of the reports, and Saunders had no objections. He soon left the sheriff station feeling at least like he’d accomplished something marginally more noteworthy than the day before.

Sitting in the car, his hands paused on the ignition. Something was nagging him. He’d intended on driving straight back, but something didn’t feel right. John glanced over at the copied files on the passenger seat. It was as if it was mocking him somehow. Taunting him.

“For Christ sake,” he muttered, shaking his head. This was stupid. He was a man of the law. He followed clues, relied on forensic evidence and logic. Nothing about this made any sense whatsoever. Zombies wasn’t real. The brain matter on the walls at Greenberg’s house had to have a logical explanation. Someone had probably built the gross ritualistic altar in the woods as an elaborate prank. Somewhere they were probably rolling over in glee at the law enforcement running around like headless chicken.

“They better not be making a stupid documentary about this,” he mumbled darkly. John grabbed the file, annoyance and resignation fighting for dominance. A photo spilled onto his lap. Picking it up he realized it was from the cemetery.

“Ah fuck it.” If he didn’t check it out it would probably nag at him to the end of days. Sheriff Saunders had admitted a bit shamefully that the graves had never been cleaned, seeing as most of them were centuries old and remaining family for the most long gone or utterly disinterested in relatives past. The symbols were probably still there, unless rain and wind had caused too much erosion.

It took a bit of work finding it though. Google Maps turned out to be utterly unhelpful, but a local farmer knew where to go and gave him decent enough instructions that he located it after heading down two dead ends, one of which involved a herd of goats. John vowed to forget that incident as soon as possible, but he would need to request a new uniform.

He couldn’t help the shudder that ran down his spine as he parked the car outside the ramshackle gates. The wind had picked up and the branches of the large birch trees surrounding the cemetery creaked and groaned with every gust. The whole place reeked of neglect. Although the Sheriff was not a man who scared easily, he had to admit that the place was beyond creepy. The gates were rusty and squeaked loudly when he pushed them open and stepped inside. The sight that greeted him was like something out of a Tim Burton movie.

“Christ, I didn’t think places like this existed outside of horror movies,” he muttered darkly as he weaved his way through some enormous gravestones, and towards the mausoleum where he knew the graffiti was. Some of the headstones loomed over him and more than a few looked like they might fall over at the drop of a hat.

“As a matter of fact there are thousands of abandoned cemeteries across the United States, all in varying states of neglect.”

The Sheriff startled and nearly backed into a particularly old-looking gravestone with some sort of family crest carved into the stone. The voice had come out of nowhere and it was distinctly female. He quickly regained his wits and straightened his belt. Craning his neck he spotted the back of a woman in impossibly high heels and a short skirt standing with her hips cocked and a pensive hand under her chin, studying the blood-red paint that adorned one of the larger mausoleums.

“I’m sorry,” he offered though he had no reason to apologize. She’d startled _him_ after all. In all honesty, she should do the apologizing.

“I didn’t expect to run into anyone here. I’m Sheriff Stilinski from Beacon Hills,” he added. It was after all standard police protocol to always identify yourself. The woman let out a small laugh and flipped her strawberry blonde hair over her shoulder. John shook his head and thought of Stiles and all the times he’d waxed poetic about Lydia Martin and her perfect strawberry locks…

The woman spun around, and John groaned. He should’ve known.

“I know perfectly well who you are, Sheriff Stilinski,” purred none other than – you guessed it – Lydia Martin. She turned back and resumed her perusal of the paintings, walking slowly along the wall. Every now and then she’d stop, go closer and at one point even scraped at the paint with what looked like a shockingly pink nail file.

“Ms. Martin,” said John and finally approached her. Lydia continued her scrutiny undeterred. “I must confess I’m a bit surprised to find you here. I thought you were at Berkeley working your way towards another mathematical achievement. I had the pleasure of sitting next to your mother at a benefit a few weeks back.”

Lydia laughed again and threw a look of sympathy over her shoulder. “Oh dear,” she said silkily. “I do apologize; my mom gets a bit over-enthusiastic about my school work.”

The Sheriff waved away the gab at her mom and scratched his jaw nervously. He suddenly understood why his son got flustered around Lydia Martin. She really was… something.

“Then why are you here?” he asked again. Lydia sighed deeply and dropped the nail file and what looked like a makeup pouch into her handbag with a flourish.

“I believe we have the same agenda,” she answered vaguely and turned to look at him her arms crossed. “I’m on my way back to Beacon Hills for a small study break,” she continued, “and of course I couldn’t help but hear about the strange going-ons. It’s all my mom can talk about these days. Especially since one of our neighbors also died tragically in a home accident the other week.” John mentally ran through the, by now, lengthy list of victims.

“Oh, yes of course. Your house is on the same street as Mr Fry-Smith, I believe.” Lydia nodded and pursed her lips.

“Poor fellow,” she murmured. “He was a dick (the Sheriff almost bit his tongue), but he did not deserve to go like that. That must have been pure torture.” She seemed to shudder a bit and he couldn’t fault her. Fry-Smith had met his demise at the end of some very sharp lawnmower blades. After his brain had been removed, that was.

“No one should die like that,” she said with a whisper and John noted she looked paler than usual. “The blades would’ve been bad enough.”

She stared into space for a few moments before she seemed to shake herself out of the trance. It was however just enough time for the sheriff to wonder how she could possibly know that it wasn’t the blades that killed him. That was after all not public knowledge.

“I’m sorry,” he said with a frown, “did you just suggest he didn’t die from the lawnmower blades.” Though he towered over her John couldn’t help the feeling that she was looking down on him, at least mentally. The look she bestowed him was almost condescending.

“Are you telling me he did die from the blades?” she countered shrewdly and the Sheriff harrumphed.

“I’m not at liberty to discuss an ongoing investigation with a civilian,” he replied curtly and the corner of her lip curled upwards in an almost smile. He had the distinct sense that she was amused by him and he wasn’t sure he liked it much. “And,” he added testily, “you still haven’t answered my question. Why are you here?”

Lydia seemed to consider him a moment, before she shrugged and began walking towards the mausoleum again. The sheriff followed.

“Like I said, I’d heard about the tragic events in Beacon Hills and I am rather… inquisitive by nature. Therefore, I couldn’t help but search for similar cases, and I soon realized that this town had a pretty grizzly past. It was on my way back and I couldn’t resist a stop.”

Sheriff Stilinski of course knew Lydia Martin was a near genius, and not only because she’d been Valedictorian at Stiles’ graduation, but because Stiles had, for years and, to the point of pure torture, used any excuse possible to gush about her brilliance. Hell, if Stiles were at home and not roaming around in Asia somewhere he would probably be lurking at every crime scene too, the nosy little shit. It wasn’t such a stretch really that an even brighter mind might do the same. At least she wasn’t trying to hide it. Stiles on the other hand would’ve tried to cover it with one of his senseless misdirections.

“Well,” the sheriff said tiredly as he took in the large red symbol adorning the wall that looked like it was forming some sort of pentagram. “I don’t know about you, but at least this cemetery seems to be a dead end. These symbols look like they were made by kids.”

Lydia was chewing her bottom lip and tapping her perfectly manicured nails pensively. “I wouldn’t dismiss it quite so fast, Sheriff,” she offered sweetly. John arched an eyebrow.

“No? Why ever not?”

“Did you know that many a myth and legend foretells that pentagrams such as these are often used to keep evil at bay?”

John actually laughed. “That sounds like something Stiles might say,” he admitted with a grin. Lydia smirked.

“Yes it does, doesn’t it? Where do you think I got this piece of knowledge? What I’ve learned over the years is to never ignore Stiles’ rants. Yes, it might appear to be 90 % gibberish, but he’s uncannily perceptive and when it comes to lore and mythos, well, he’s one of a kind.”

John nodded. “Well, he’s in fact studying mythology at college, but I suppose you know that already, since you’re both at Berkeley. Although he’s been away on that field trip for quite some time now.”

Lydia traced the outline of the pentagram and a faint shudder seemed to rake through her. She paused and placed her hand in the middle of it. For a moment John thought he saw the red lines glow faintly, but surely that was only a trick of the light.

“Yes, it sounds like the trip is fruitful,” she replied slowly.

“What do you mean? Have you been in contact with him lately?” The Sheriff couldn’t remember the last time he spoke to Stiles in person. For the last five months, they’d only communicated by e-mail. If she noticed the strain in his voice she didn’t let on. She only nodded.

“We speak all the time,” she admitted readily. “In fact I was in contact with him just the other day. He was the one who suggested I’d stop by here.”

John had long since given up on understanding how Stiles’ mind worked, and at the moment he didn’t give a damn about the fact that Stiles still seemed to be meddling in police matters even from another continent. It was rather the fact that he was in regular contact with friends but didn’t spare his own father so much as a phone call… It just hurt. Suppressing his feelings of neglect, he gave the pentagram a dismissive look.

“I hardly think this pentagram holds the answer to this case, no matter how fascinating it might be.”

Lydia clucked her tongue. “Like I said, I wouldn’t dismiss it so readily, Sheriff,” she offered pensively. “Whoever made this particular pentagram knew what they were doing. And it seems to be warding something off. Alternatively, keeping something in. I’m not sure.”

John felt his phone buzz in his pocket and checked the message. It was from Deputy Hilliard regarding the Argent girl. The Sheriff wondered whether he should tell Lydia Martin that her best friend was in deep shit. He decided against it. Part of him knew it was partly in spite, and he felt slightly ashamed. Yet it was his right. He wasn’t obligated to inform friends after all, only family.

“As entertaining as that notion might be, I think such theories are best served on shows like Buffy, and not for real life investigations,” he answered rather frostily. Lydia merely shrugged.

“Suit yourself,” she answered and turned towards the gate. “But for your information this “paint” as you call it is in fact a mixture of human blood, crushed mistletoe and if I’m not mistaken a healthy dose of sulfur. Can’t you smell it?  Also, do you see the curves to the pentagram at the top – with the vines that snake out from underneath and seem to form a separate symbol? I don’t know what it means, but I’m pretty sure someone tried to summon something quite nasty here and whoever drew the pentagram sealed it shut. That’s why the grave desecrations stopped.”

John didn’t know if he should laugh or cry. It was bad enough when young Greenberg was crying zombies. He didn’t need Lydia Martin going around spewing theories about – what? Satanic rituals? Like they were real.

“I think it’s time to go now, Ms. Martin,” he said brusquely and Lydia nodded. “As you wish,” she purred, and turned with a flourish of florals.

“I would also advise you to keep such –  _fanciful_  – theories to yourself,” he added sternly. Lydia turned her head and mimed locking her mouth, throwing the invisible key over her shoulder with all the grace of a runway model.

“As you wish, Sheriff,” she said sunnily. “Until next time, then. I believe our paths will soon cross again.”

She stopped momentarily and it looked like her eyes rolled back into her head. Just a second later, she squared her shoulders and resumed her brisk walk.

“Yes, it’s all clear now. We’ll definitely meet soon. And Sheriff,” she turned and leveled him with a penetrating stare. “I suggest you look into _demonology_. I assure you, it will become a thing.”

With that she flounced out the gates and disappeared down the road. Sheriff Stilinski was left standing, feeling as if the he’d just taken two steps back, and instead of the picture getting clearer, everything instead resembled an abstract Picasso painting.

 


	14. Scott

It was one of those torturous days that never seemed to end.

Scott woke way too early considering he didn’t get to bed until 5 am. Not even werewolf healing powers could help him with the effects of sleep deprivation. When the poor alarm clock went off at 7 am, he accidentally crushed it beyond recognition.  He’d been meaning to hit the snooze button, but in his bleary-eyed state he’d miscalculated slightly. His control was always a bit off-kilter in the mornings before he was fully awake, but he hadn’t actually broken anything in years. Clearly, things were more off-balance than Scott realized.

The drama of the previous night was weighing heavily on his mind as he headed down for breakfast. As soon as he stepped foot into the kitchen Scott’s mother accosted him for updates. As always, Scott provided the bare minimum. He had resolved to never again outright lie to his mom about important stuff. Still, there was a world of difference between lying and omitting certain facts to make her worry less. She had enough on her plate as it was.

 When Scott was done with his redacted report, Melissa countered with a detailed report on the Sheriff’s visit to Greenberg in the psych ward.

“Shit,” Scott muttered while munching on a piece of toast. His mother wacked him on the forehead with the newspaper.

“Language, Scott,” she admonished playfully. Scott stuck his tongue out at her. She was the biggest hypocrite and she knew it. No one swore quite as eloquently and creatively as Melissa McCall. She unfolded the paper and scanned the front page.

“It seems like it was a quiet night.” Scott arched an eyebrow and Melissa rolled her eyes. “A quiet night for the Beacon Hills Sheriff Department at least, which is good right?” Scott buttered another toast with a shrug.

“That depends,” he said vaguely.

“On what?”

“Well, is it quiet because the worst is over and whoever was causing this has moved on to terrorize another town, or is it quiet because it’s literally the quiet before the storm?”

Melissa looked pained as she cradled her coffee mug, taking tentative sips.

“Knowing your luck it’s probably the latter,” she offered plainly. Scott snorted. “Ain’t that the truth.”

His mom continued to skim through the newspaper but evidently found nothing worth mentioning. She still looked troubled though, and Scott sighed.

“Whatever it is you’re thinking about, just spill it already,” he said tiredly. His mom smiled guiltily.

“I was just thinking that now that Stiles is back, it might be time to clue John in on things. As crazy as things have gotten in the past, the police force has never been as involved in any of the supernatural stuff as with this case. He’s bound to cross paths with something he can’t explain. Hell, the concept of zombies seems to be growing on him.”

Scott nodded pensively. He wholeheartedly agreed but it was and would always be Stiles’ choice, and a choice he was eerily unwilling to make. Still, there were signs of surrender… Scott just needed to be smart about it, not push too hard. Simply leave tempting breadcrumbs for Stiles to follow, hopefully fooling him into think it was his own idea.

That, and possibly involve Lydia. Scott mulled it over for about three seconds, before he decided definitely to involve Lydia.

“I know, mom. I’m working on it.” Melissa did not look reassured. Scott couldn’t blame her. Whenever it came down to a battle of wills, Stiles won eleven out of ten times.

“I swear, he’s coming around. He just needs time. And some gentle coaxing.”

Melissa rolled her eyes. “Yes, because we all know Stiles never does what you tell him to. Sadly, reversed psychology doesn’t works either. He’s an enigma, that boy. I wonder if anyone will ever figure him out.”

Scott shrugged. He wasn’t too worried about it. Things would work out for Stiles. It might take a bit more time than what was strictly necessary, but what could you do when you were dealing with an extreme case of stubbornness?

“I’m really worried about John,” Melissa continued with a heartfelt sigh. “I think he might be at his wits end soon, and we all know a broken Stilinski is not a pretty sight.”

Scott and Melissa both cringed thinking back on the dark time during their junior year where Stiles almost went off the deep end because of the bond with the Nemeton. Scott chewed his lower lip pensively for a moment, uncertain if he voluntarily wanted to poke his nose in his mom’s potential love life. In the end, he decided to throw caution to the wind. She’d meddled in his affairs more times than he’d cared to remember. Payback was a bitch.

“I can’t help but notice that Sheriff Stilinski is over for dinner every week nowadays,” he began innocently. “Is there anything you want to share… regarding…” he gestured wildly, “ _that_?”

“Sweet savior,” mumbled Melissa, a smirk playing at her lips. “Scott McCall, are you asking your mother if she has romantic notions?”

“Mom!” Scott whined and hid his head in his hands out of sheer embarrassment.

“Oh my god, you are!” she crowed gleefully and patted him good-naturedly on the back. “You’re so cute!” Scott suddenly felt an overpowering urge to get to work. There was probably puppies that needed tending to. Urgently.

“Forget I asked,” he mumbled irritably, his cheeks radiating heat. His mom actually sobered up and leveled him with a searching look.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be teasing. In fact I’m only teasing you to hide my own embarrassment.” She laughed nervously and looked at him almost shyly. “Would you have a problem with that? If that was the case? Not that it is the case, not even close. It’s not even an issue or a notion for that matter. And, dear god, I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

Scott smirked and nodded. “A little bit, yeah. And no, I wouldn’t have a problem with that, not at all. I want you to be happy. Besides, Stiles’ dad, well he’s practically the closest thing I’ve had to a father figure the last couple of years anyway. It wouldn’t be much of an adjustment.”

His mom looked visibly relieved, and then slumped down into her seat.

“Please don’t mention anything to anyone. It’s not like I’m trying to cross the friends’ barrier with him at the moment. It’s just something that I feel could be great, given the opportunity.”

“Then why not give it an opportunity?” asked Scott. “There’s not much reward without a bit of risk, you know.”

Melissa nodded before shaking her head sadly. “I refuse to start a romantic relationship that will involve lies, Scott. It’s hard enough now that we’re friends.”

It was a sobering thought and Scott filed it away for later. He knew Stiles would want his dad to be happy as well. This might be the final push he needed.

 

***

 

As soon as he arrived at Deaton’s it became apparent it was one of those days where nothing went according to plan. Their schedule was booked to capacity as it was with little to no time to spare. Only an hour into his shift they had to squeeze in an emergency surgery for a dog that was run over, and soon thereafter Deaton had to rush out to a nearby farm to help deliver foals, leaving Scott to tend to a waiting room filled with annoyed pet owners. It thankfully calmed down somewhat after a few hours. Stressful as it was, at least it prevented him from worrying too much about poor Allison stuck in jail.

He’d just tried to call Chris again without luck when there was a knock on the back door. He let in a frazzled-looking Stiles, today wearing a bright yellow t-shirt and a grey cardigan rolled up at the sleeves. Scott thought he looked oddly hipster, but refrained from commenting. Stiles was agitated. Or excited. Sometimes it was hard to tell the difference.

“You alright?” asked Scott and closed the door securely behind him and locked it for good measure. He could hear Deaton murmuring softly with a patient and its owner in the adjacent room. Stiles shrugged and flung his backpack on the examination table, and began rummaging through it.

“Where did you go last night? I thought you’d crash at my place?”

“Oh, yeah,” said Stiles looking slightly shifty. “I didn’t want to take the chance in case my dad turned up. Little birds tells me he’s made a habit of having dinner with your mom several times a week. Wonder what that is all about.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. Scott hurriedly turned away, feeling his cheeks blush. It was best not to give Stiles any ideas, not until he’d convinced him to talk to his dad at any rate.

“So I got a room at a motel,” continued Stiles, seemingly unaware of Scott’s discomfort. He emptied the contents of the bag and soon located a memory stick, holding it up in triumph. “Bingo! I spent the remainder of the night getting a head start on this monster. It’s a bestiary.”

He looked around and spotted a laptop in the corner. “Do you mind?” In true Stiles’ fashion, he’d inserted the stick before Scott had the chance to answer.

“By all means, make yourself right at home.” Stiles grinned cheekily as the laptop booted up.

“I think I found something worthwhile.” He sounded giddy; drumming his hands on the table for a few moments, then began spinning around in the office chair.

Scott shook his head. “Dude, you’re like a five year old.”

Stiles grinned cheekily. “What? You gotta give me some slack, dude. I’ve been away from civilization for ages. I’m assimilating.” He rolled across the floor and snatched up a chocolate bar from the array of crap that still littered the examination table. He bit into it with an obscene groan. “This is orgasmic! I’m never eating organic roots again!”

Scott suppressed a laugh. It would only encourage him further. “So, does that mean you won’t be going back to the wilderness anytime soon?”

Stiles shook his head vehemently. “No way. Not unless I absolutely have to. The only normal thing Natos had in his boot camp was a halfway decent Wi-Fi connection. The rest was all straw cabins and grains of the earth, man. I’m not build for that shit. Allison seemed to like it though. But then again, I think she’s more used to adapting fast with all the moving around she’s done over the years. Ah, here we go.”

The laptop chimed its merry little tune announcing it was ready for use, and Stiles’ fingers danced over the keyboard with a speed Scott could only hope to achieve one day. Honestly, he still typed with two fingers most of the time.

“I’ve only managed to translate about half of this thing here,” said Stiles excitedly and Scott leaned over for a better look. “Quite a few of these things seem to line up with what’s happening here from what I’ve heard. I would like to get a hold of my dad’s reports just to be certain, but I’m not sure that feasible without alerting him to my presence.”

It was silent for a few minutes while Scott read over the document Stiles had prepared. “Jesus,” breathed Scott and sank down into a chair opposite Stiles. “This makes Kelpies, Kanimas and Alpha Packs seem like child’s play. Are you sure, though?”

Stiles chewed his lip and his leg jiggled. “Pretty sure, yeah. I talked to Lydia this morning, or,” he laughed, “more like last night. I totally forgot to check the time and called her at five in the morning. She was not impressed, let me tell you.”

Scott cringed in sympathy. “Auch.”

“Auch indeed. Anyway, I talked her through this theory and asked her to stop at this other town on her way back. They experienced some of the same kind of things a couple of years back. She should be back here soon, and then we’ll know more about this symbol part.”

“Good thinking. I’ll send out a text to let everyone know. How about we meet up at four?”

Stiles nodded and checked his watch. “Yeah, that will give Lydia a chance to check in with her mom, and you can pop by the station and bail out Allison. Bail should be set by now I guess.”

It was like being dowsed in cold water. Scott had more or less forgotten all about Allison with the hectic morning he’d had. A wave of worry washed over him followed closely by a metaphorical tsunami of guilt. How could he possible forget about her? Even for a second?

“Shit, yes, oh god. I should get going.”

He started rummaging around for his keys and phone. He hardly noticed the door opening and Deaton entering. “We’ll talk more about the symbols at four, okay. Unless you want to come with me?” Stiles gave him his most condescending deadpan glare and Scott threw his hands up. “Sorry, sorry. Just a thought.”

Deaton glided over to one of the cupboards and retrieved a large syringe and a couple of small bottles. Stiles watched him through narrow eyes, but the veterinarian did nothing to acknowledge his presence. Stiles arched an eyebrow in obvious question and jerked his head in one of his weird fashions that Scott frankly though would give normal people whiplash. He could little do but shrug. Even after years of working with him, Deaton was still a bit of an enigma. Soft spoken and calm he’d proven helpful on many occasions and Scott was very grateful for all his advice as well as the generous offer of partnership after graduation.

Yet, he couldn’t help but feel that Deaton knew so much more and could be even more of a resource to them if he’d only open up. Instead, he seemed to have adopted a kind of Dumbledorian approach where he only doled out crumbs for them to follow instead of a clear-cut direction. It was both inspiring and tiring.

He continued to putter around with the medication, measuring carefully and pulling on a pair of plastic gloves with a snap that somehow reminded Scott of Stiles. He couldn’t quite place why. Knowing his friend, it was probably something silly.

Scott was pulling on his jacket, waiting impatiently for Stiles to power down the laptop when Deaton suddenly spoke. It took both of them by surprise.

“I couldn’t help but overhear you talking about symbols,” he said in his monotone voice, his back still to them. “Maybe I can be of assistance?” He turned languidly and met Scott’s eyes, a serene look on his face. Scott shared a quick look with Stiles. He looked like he was munching on lemons, face stuck in a scowl. Scott shook his head perhaps a tad too vigorously. He more felt than saw Stiles roll his eyes.

“Oh, thanks,” he stuttered and fumbled with his zipper. “We, eh, might take you up on that. You know, later. When, when we have more to go on.”

Deaton nodded, yet a look of disappointment was evident for a moment before he let his face fall back into his normal solemn folds. “Of course,” he said calmly. “Just know that I’m available if and when you need me.”

Scott picked up on Stiles’ barely audible “yeah right” but if Deaton heard, he didn’t let on. “I am quite well-versed in the supernatural as you know, and will happily lend my expertise,” he offered. Scott smiled perhaps a bit too broadly, and nodded.

“Thanks, doc. We’ll probably take you up on that. Eh, is it okay if I pop out for an hour or so? I have a private matter I need to take care of.”

“No problem, you’ve earned the break. Good work today, Scott.” Deaton picked up the syringe and headed for the door. “And it’s good to see you back in town, Stiles,” he added over his shoulder as he pushed the door open. “It’s been…  _quiet_.. in your absence.”

 

And with that he was gone.

Stiles slouched back in the chair and spun around, his arms flailing. “I don’t know how you stand to work with that dude all day. He frustrates me to no end.”

Scott laughed. “That’s because you have negative patience, bro. You suck at diplomacy and tact.” Stiles grimaced and removed the memory stick, lobbing it, along with the rest of his knick-knacks, back into the backpack.

“Yeah, maybe so. But at least I’m not a shit liar. Seriously, could you stutter more?” Scott opened the back door and took care to whack Stiles over the head when he exited.

“Hey,” cried Stiles, “where’s the love?”

“You tell me,” Scott fired back and to his surprise Stiles actually blushed. If he weren’t in such a hurry to bail out Allison he would definitely poked more at that. Instead, he filed it for later teasing. “Anyway, I’ll see you at four. Come to Derek and Cora’s, they live above the café.”

Stiles muttered and looked much like a grumpy cat, but nodded anyway. Scott whistled impressed when he laid eyes on the bike Stiles straddled effortlessly.

“Nice!” he praised, suddenly missing the bike he had in high school.

“Most likely stolen,” replied Stiles with a grin as he put his helmet on. Scott groaned and unlocked the car door.

“Hey,” he called before Stiles started the bike. “What will you do until four? Going back to the motel?” Stiles nodded shiftily.

“I have some things to take care of and look into. I’ll see you at Cora’s.”

Scott had a split second to wonder why Stiles would refer to the apartment as Cora’s and not Derek’s, but then he revved the engine and spun out the parking lot and it was all lost in a cloud of sound and dust.

 

***

 

“What do you mean she’s not here?”

Scott was leveling the poor Deputy stationed at the front desk with his most lethal glare. For all his floppy hair and nice-guy persona, he could be pretty intimidation when he put his mind to it. The poor guy at the reception desk was living proof of that, sweating slightly under Scott’s glower.

Allison had always managed to get Scott’s blood pumping, from the very first moment he heard her voice, talking to her mom on the phone outside the school. God that felt like eons ago. His blood was boiling now as well but for quite different reasons. In fact, he was fighting back the urge to shift and throw the intimidated deputy into the nearest wall. Not that it would help in the slightest, but the last ten minutes had been an exercise in patience not even he could muster in the long haul. Scott breathed deeply and fought to control the wolf. It wouldn’t do to flash red eyes while at the Sheriff’s station after all. He plastered on a fake smile and tried again.

“Like I said, last night Allison Argent was brought in. I’ve been told from reliable sources that bail would be settled this morning. I would very much like to pay said bail so she can be released. It’s not really hard at all.”

The deputy looked equally frustrated and was clearly beginning to lose his patience as well.

“Look, Mr. McCall, like I said, I cannot find any record of Allison Argent in our system. I was not on shift last night, so I don’t know who was brought in and not. But,” he held up a finger to stop the protest that Scott was about to voice, “if, and I mean if she’d been brought in, she would be in our records. Even if she was released today or last night, there would be a record of it.”

He gestured wildly at the screen and Scott leaned over to get a better look. “I’ve checked, I’ve rechecked and there’s no Allison Argent in our records. So I suggest you talk to your “reliable” source, because I believe you’ve been had.”

Scott reached over and turned the screen (‘Hey, stop that!’) and studied it carefully. The deputy was right. The name Allison Argent was typed into the search field and ‘No results’ was blinking tauntingly on the screen. Still, he knew she’d called Stiles from the station. She’d been here; there was no denying the fact. Allison wouldn’t lie about that. Which begged the question – where was she now?

Just as he was about to accuse the deputy of incompetence or suggest their record system had a bug or seven, the front doors opened and Sheriff Stilinski walked in. He looked bone tired and Scott flashed back to the talk he had with his mom that morning. She was worried about him, and he could see why. He knew a Stilinski on the verge of breakdown, and the Sheriff was edging close to the cliff if the slump of his shoulders and bags under the eyes was anything to go by.

He spotted Scott and a look of resignation washed over his face. Scott opened his mouth to demand to know where Allison was, but the sheriff just shook his head and gestured for him to follow. He felt his blood turn to ice. The deputy behind the desk looked both confused and affronted, but the Sheriff simply ignored him. Did the sheriff know? Had Allison cracked? Was that why she’d mysteriously disappeared from the arrest records? And was Stiles’ dad keeping it all from his own deputies?

As Scott walked behind the sheriff to his office a million scenarios and possible excuses, lies and explanations ran through his head, each one more horrible and unbelievable than the next. Even the densest of people would be skeptical. And Sheriff Stilinski was anything but dense.

‘Where is Stiles when I need him’ Scott thought desperately. If anyone could spin a believable lie out of nothing it was Stiles Stilinski. Though. he usually had a harder time convincing his dad. Not surprising really.

 They entered the familiar office, and John shut the door behind them, gesturing to one of the chairs. Scott sat down reluctantly, looking around with nostalgia. Stiles and he had spent many an afternoon in here when they were younger. Sometimes pestering the sheriff with endless questions about crimes (Stiles), the human reproduction system (also Stiles), male circumcision (Stiles, again), doing their utmost to avoid doing homework (both of them) or receiving punishment for all the shenanigans they tended to get into (99 % of the time because of Stiles).

The Sheriff removed his jacket, hung it on one of the wall pegs and shuffled over to his desk. A huge stack of reports sat primly waiting form him. John glanced at them with a dejected sigh.

The door suddenly flew open, and  Scott startled when someone suddenly breezed past him.

“Sheriff, you’ve got about a dozen messages from the mayor to call him back urgently. Also, Deputies Hilliard, Weston and Locke have been called out to another home accident. Not sure yet if it’s a brain remover again, we’ll keep you posted.”

“Thanks, Phyllis,” Stiles’ dad replied tiredly and took the stack of messages from the secretaries rather plump hand. “I’ll get right on that as soon as I’ve had a word with Mr. McCall. Please excuse us for a moment. And close the door behind you.” Phyllis looked rather affronted, but nodded curtly and did as requested.

The Sheriff nodded at the chair in front of his desk and Scott reluctantly sat down. “I’ll be blunt, Scott,” he started curtly and Scott visibly cringed. This did not bode well. “I’ve had a trying day. No scratch that. I’ve had a trying _month_. And I assume you’re here because of Miss Argent.”

Scott opened his mouth to confirm, but the sheriff signaled for him to stop. “Please don’t answer that, Scott. Because if you do, then I will be forced to ask how you know she was here in the first place. I’ve given strict instructions to all deputies on the night shift not to release any information about her arrest, and I’ve kept it out of the records as I’m sure you’ve gathered if the flustered look on my desk deputy is anything to go by.”

He rubbed his cheek in an eerily familiar manner Scott associated with a frustrated Stiles. It was clearly a Stilinski trait. “The only explanation for how you know about her imprisonment would be if you had some sort of inside connection in my precinct. Somehow I highly doubt that. Which leads me to believe you might be the one Allison called last night. I don’t particularly like that option any better, especially considering the highly illegal stuff we found in her trunk and the fact that she purposefully hid something from the police.”

He leveled Scott with a scrutinizing look that seemed to bore into his very spine. He tried to look as innocent as possible, activating the puppy eyes he’d been reliably informed seemed to work in both getting things his way and making him look dumber than he was. Sadly they seemed to have zero effect on Stiles’ dad.

“Your lack of questions and the fact that you don’t even look the slightest bit surprised by what I’ve just said speaks volumes.” The sheriff sighed deeply and leaned over his desk, tired eyes boring into Scott’s. “I don’t know what kind of trouble you’re mixed up in, Scott. I hope for both your sake and your poor mother that you’re only looking out for your ex-girlfriend and that you’ve got no ties to her… _activities_.”

Scott felt sweat forming at his temples. He somehow felt eleven years old again, flashing back to the first first time Stiles and he got into real trouble. It had involved Stiles’ neighbor, a trip wire and a bag full of rotten cabbages they’d found in the trash behind the green grocers. He was so certain they were going to jail, because the Sheriff had been so very angry, and his mom had been close to tears. He might be twenty now, an alpha and legally an adult, but his mom and Sheriff Stilinski still managed to scare the bejesus out of him when they went into their scary parent mode.

“I care about you, Scott,” continued the Sheriff. “You’re a good kid. Hell, you’re a good _man_. An adult. And that means that any trouble you might land in will have adult consequences. Frankly I don’t know what it is about Beacon Hills, but it’s more and more clear to me that there’s something going on here that I’m not entirely privy to. Unless I’m mistaken it’s been going on for some time, and I suspect that somehow you know about this. Whether you’re directly involved or not, I’m not sure, but you know something. Allison definitely knows something, I’m betting Stiles knows a whole lot and believe me if he was in the country I’d wring it out of him, once and for all.”

Scott couldn’t help the blush that spread across his face at the mention of Stiles. Stiles who, at this very moment, was very much in Beacon Hills and smack in the middle of it all. There was no way in hell he’d be the one to let that cat out of the bag. Stiles had made his choice to keep his dad out, and damned if Scott was going to take the heat of explaining that to the exasperated man in front of him. It was a small consolation that he didn’t seem to know anything about the supernatural element town.

“I’m sorry, Sheriff, but where exactly is Allison?”

Sheriff Stilinski looked like he wanted to punch the truth out of him, and if the clenched fists were anything to go by, he was very close to the end of his rope. Still, when he spoke, his voice was eerily calm. Scott shivered. Somehow that was worse than yelling.

“Part of me wants to just send you on your merry way without answering that question. And frankly speaking I’m under no obligation to divulge anything to you, because you’re neither her family nor her spouse.”

He picked up a pen and began twirling it idly between his fingers. Scott felt the telltale wave of power begin to build. The wolf in him was growing impatient, and as always when it came to Allison and her well-being he wasn’t entirely rational. The first sign of his control slipping was the heightened sense of smell. The bitter smell of stale coffee assaulted him, and he fought the urge to growl. Whether or not the Sheriff sensed his impatience, Scott wasn’t sure, but he dropped the pen with a sigh.

“That said, I know how much you care about her, so I’ll level with you,” he continued. Scott felt his wolf calming down. “I was fully intent on charging her, Scott. She wasn’t cooperating and her car was full of… well, illegal contraband.” He actually laughed then, sounding almost relieved. “They didn’t give me any details. Not sure they could’ve even if they wanted to. Top secret their supervisor said. A matter of national security was also mentioned. And here I thought she was a regular college student.”

He shook his head and smiled wryly. “I’m fairly sure you knew about her undercover work, Scott, and I understand that wasn’t something you could divulge. But if her work has anything with what’s going on here in town I sure would like a hint at least.”

Scott was at a total loss. What on earth was the Sheriff on about? Undercover work? “Eh,” he began tentatively. It seemed like Stiles’ dad had released Allison for some reason, and that was fantastic news. But she hadn’t been in contact with any of them. So where was she?

“Do, eh, do you happen to know where she, went? After you let her go?”

The Sheriff shrugged. “Sorry, son. The agents didn’t say. When they heard someone named Argent was in jail, they demanded to talk to her. The next I know I have some higher up at FBI headquarter calling me demanding to release her into the agents’ care. They just whisked her out of her, confiscated all her belongings and the car and drove off in a hurry.”

Scott concentrated hard not to gape in horror.  _The FBI_  had Allison? He needed to find Stiles. Now!

“I see,” he mumbled incoherently and rose clumsily from the chair. “Thank you for letting me know, Sheriff. I’ll let you get back to your work now,” he waved at the mountain of reports on the desk. He was halfway to the door when Stiles’ dad spoke again.

“Don’t think for a second I’m letting this go, Scott. I will get to the bottom of these strange things, and I sincerely hope you can find it in you to trust me enough to tell me outright.”

Scott shrugged defensively and continued to back towards the door. “I’m sorry, but I haven’t even seen Allison for more than 6 months. I have no idea what she might have gotten mixed up with since then.”

Sheriff Stilinski’s smile was calculating and shrewd. He leaned back into his chair, arms crossed. “I might’ve been inclined to believe you if it weren’t for the fact that I came across the enigmatic Lydia Martin at an abandoned cemetery the next state over earlier today, looking at what appeared to be satanic symbols. Call me crazy but when all of your old crew swarm into town, one with a weapon arsenal that would make militant guerilla bosses weep in joy and another pop up at a correlating crime scene, then all I lack is a third incident and I’ve got myself a pattern. I keep expecting to trip over Isaac Lahey or Cora Hale at every turn. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised to find Stiles lurking in the shadows. If anyone could sniff out trouble from half around the world, it would be that little shit.”

Scott had no idea what to say. The witty retorts and the snary comebacks had never been his strong suit. He ended up shrugging awkwardly and turned for the door.

“I’d wish you’d trust me.”

Scott was glad he had his back to the sheriff. There was no mistaking the raw hurt radiating from a man he considered family.

“I do,” he rasped out. “It’s just – complicated.”

He left quickly without looking back.


	15. Lydia

 

Lydia pushed the buzzer to Cora and Derek’s apartment promptly at four, admiring her new manicure with a smile. She’d made it back to Beacon Hills in time to have a late lunch with her mother followed by a very necessary trip to the nail salon. Honestly, scraping at the symbols on the old mausoleums had been murder on her nails, but she suspected it was worth it.

A loud scratching sound pierced the air followed by Cora’s somewhat hollow voice. “Yeah?”

“It’s me, Lydia,” she answered curtly and was immediately buzzed through. She struggled up the rickety stairs regretting the decision to wear high heels. She was carrying a tote bag full of books and her portable lab equipment, which meant heels were not sensible footwear. Still, Lydia Martin did not compromise on fashion.

The lab equipment was essential, and she’d gladly suffer some sore calves for it. The trip to the cemetery had been fruitful. She’d gathered a wide range of samples and although she was fairly certain of the composition of the paint used, she wanted to confirm it. The door to the apartment flew open and a flustered looking Cora emerged.

“Oh my, Lydia!” she exclaimed, “you should’ve said something and I would’ve met you downstairs to help you carry all this stuff.”

She hurried down to meet her halfway and plucked the lab bag out of her hands. Lydia wrinkled her nose, but didn’t say anything. She hated being dependent on anyone and asking for help was not something she did lightly.

“Thank you,” she said through clenched teeth and Cora smirked.

“Whoa, Lydia. Did you just thank me? Did it hurt?” Her reward was one of Lydia’s patented bitch glares, but it did nothing but elicit a river of chuckles.

“Good to see you haven’t changed.” Cora threw the lab bag over her shoulder like a rag dog and led the way into the apartment. Lydia dropped the tote bag by the sofa and looked around. Somehow she always expected to see the same cold and bare décor from Derek’s depressing loft from several years back. This place was anything but cold though, and she suspected Cora was the reason for that. Warm colors in tones of red and purple on the walls, a comfortable looking sofa, bookshelves filled to the brim and even a huge dining room table.  Cora handed over the lab bag and headed for the kitchen.

“Can I get you anything? Tea, coffee or perhaps something stronger? The others should be here any moment.”

“A coffee would be lovely.” She sat down at the edge of the sofa. A door opened behind her and she turned, expecting to see Derek.

Lydia Martin was seldom surprised. Being incredibly intelligent, she knew a whole lot most people didn’t and thus wasn’t often taken off guard. She followed the news diligently, both domestic and foreign, she kept up with the local social happenings (thank you, mom) as well as celebrity gossip. Furthermore, she was very perceptive and tended to pick up on things, sometimes even before they happened. _This_  however took her by surprise. In hindsight, she supposed it was to be expected. Inevitable even.

Isaac Lahey had not yet mastered the art of the perfect poker face. Still, Lydia had to give him credit for a stellar attempt at casual. Lesser mortals might perhaps be fooled. Heck, even she might have brushed it off if it weren’t for the fact that he’d just exited Cora’s bedroom.

Naturally Lydia did what she did best. She leveled him with an incredibly highly arched eyebrow, cocked her head slightly and pursed her lips. Arms crossed in front, one foot tapping impatiently and Lydia knew she was one intimidating sight. Poor Isaac didn’t stand a chance, a blush blooming from his cheeks and spreading down his neck.

“Lydia, I’m sorry but we only have instant coffee, is that oka-”

The question died on Cora’s lips and she stopped dead in her tracks. Lydia looked over her shoulder, expression firmly in place. Cora groaned.

“Oh crap,” she muttered her shoulders slumping. Lydia more felt than saw Isaac shrug helplessly behind here. “Oh, Lyds, please don’t say anything,” Cora begged. “We haven’t told anyone yet, and it’s kind of new and we just wanted to be sure this was something real, you know. Our little group is kind of incestuous with awkward past triangles like Scott, Allison and Isaac not to mention Stiles, you and me…”

She trailed off and slumped down opposite Lydia. Isaac was still lurking nervously in the back. Lydia rolled her eyes impatiently.

“Isaac, for the love of god, please stop loitering back there and find a seat. I’m not going to judge, I’m not going to say anything to the others and I’m not going to tease. Honestly, you look as if I just walked in on you performing ritual blood sacrifice.”

Cora visibly relaxed and Isaac shuffled over to the sofa and sat down, but as far away from Cora as possible. Lydia huffed but refrained from commenting. She looked back to Cora who was nervously chewing her lip, her hand clutching the jar of instant coffee. Lydia took pity on her.

“Cora dear, instant coffee is more than fine. I’m a college student now, I’ve learned the hard way not to scoff at coffee, and just be grateful for the caffeine however badly it might be brewed.”

Cora jumped to her feet and came back a minute later with three steaming cups of coffee. Lydia accepted hers gratefully. It had been a very long day.

“So,” she began innocently, “when exactly did you and Stiles happen and why didn’t I know about it? You made it sound like we’ve been in a sordid love triangle. I think I’ve missed that memo.”

Cora spluttered and coughed and Isaac looked murderous. Clearly, a topic they hadn’t covered and Lydia almost felt bad for poking her nose in it. Who was she kidding? She didn’t feel bad at all. In fact, she felt a tiny bit hurt. She hadn’t known Stiles had hooked up with Cora, and frankly she was furious that he hadn’t confided him her. She thought they told each other everything. Or, almost everything. She pursed her lips and took a careful sip. The coffee was actually halfway decent. She arched her eyebrow again, waiting for Cora to elaborate.

“Oh, well, it’s not like something ever really happened,” she began evasively. “Not really. I, well I sort of had a bit of a crush on him when I first got back here. You know with the whole alpha pack and all.”

Lydia remembered perfectly. So did Isaac if the low growl was anything to go by. His memories had been fully restored, and she knew he’d struggled with nightmares about the kidnapping for months after.

“He was just so, I don’t know, easy to talk to. He knew what I was, he knew my family history and still he was not afraid of me and would just get up in my face if he didn’t agree. I’d never really met anyone like that. He…intrigued me, I guess.”

Lydia cocked her head considering Cora’s words. She’d never really thought about it like that, but she was right of course. As long as she’d been privy to the world of supernatural creatures Stiles had never been afraid to voice his opinions even if he didn’t stand a chance against any of them physically.

“I can see that,” she admitted with a smile. “He’s… something, alright.”

Isaac scoffed and Lydia glared at him. He crossed his arms and looked like grumpy kitten. She decided to ignore him. Cora laughed softly.

“It never really amounted to anything. I thought perhaps he might like me, or that it could be something eventually. He was still in love with you at that point I think, , and I honestly didn’t know how you felt about him. I never really got the chance to find out anyway, because things escalated and Derek and I left for a while. When I got back, well. Things were different, and he’d moved on.”

Lydia heard what Cora said, but even louder was the things she didn’t say. She reached over and patted her hand, silently telling her it was okay. Cora hesitated and smiled tentatively. “Did you still like him like that, when you got back?”

Cora blushed. Isaac grumbled.

“Yeah, I kind of did. After I left, well to be honest it took months before I remembered it, but eventually memories came back from when I was sick. One morning I woke up and I remembered vividly that Stiles had actually saved my life. I stopped breathing and he performed CPR. I just sort of fell in love all over again.”

She laughed softly and shook her head. “I know it’s silly. Very school girl crush, falling for her savior. And I got over it quickly after I returned. It was clear that he wasn’t into me. It was right after graduation and I could tell he was preoccupied with something. Or rather someone. He kept texting and sneaking off when he thought no one noticed. I guess no one did. Except for me, but then again I was watching him very carefully. I never really figured out who it was he was seeing. I thought for a while it was you, but sometimes he would vanish when you were there, so I had to let that theory go.”

“Huh,” said Lydia pensively. Isaac was mumbling incoherently, then dived for a magazine that he promptly hid behind. That was – _odd_. She considered Stiles one of her best friends, and yet she hadn’t noticed him sneaking off around graduation. Then again, it had been a particularly trying time, both academically and supernaturally speaking. She decided to pester him about it as soon as she could get him alone.

“Well,” she said smartly, setting her mug down carefully. “I have kissed Stiles Stilinski exactly once, and it was to snap him out of a panic attack. He was a surprisingly good kisser, though he was taken by surprise and probably didn’t give it his all. But I was with Aiden at the time, and well. I think we both realized pretty quickly that we were better off as friends.”

Isaac was still growling and downright sulking at the other end of the sofa, and it was starting to grate on Lydia’s nerves.

“I’m happy you’ve found each other,” she said sincerely. “I do think you make a great couple, and I hope it works out. And I’ll keep it to myself of course,” she added and mimed locking her mouth and throwing away the key. Cora beamed.

“Thanks, Lyds. You’re the best.” She hurried over to Isaac, threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tight. “Don’t be such a jealous dick,” she smiled and pecked his cheek. “I’m all about you now, okay?” He grinned wolfishly and turned to get a better angle, but Cora froze and stopped him. “Oh, someone’s coming. I think it’s – yes, it’s Derek.”

They sprung apart with such speed Lydia hardly had time to register it. At the blink of an eye Isaac was back to perusing the magazine with just a tad too much enthusiasm (considering it was the latest Vogue) and Cora was in the kitchen whistling shrilly. She didn’t have time to roll her eyes because a split second later Derek stomped through the door wearing his Preserve ranger uniform and Lydia took care to appreciate the sight. He might be a grumpy bastard, but he sure did look dashing in uniform.

He nodded to Isaac and arched an eyebrow at his choice of reading material. Isaac blushed and threw it on the table as if it burned his fingers. Lydia snorted softly and that drew Derek’s attention to her. As always, Lydia had trouble reading him. Derek was still a complete mystery to her. Aside from Cora the only person who seemed to make any sense of his grunts and blank stares was Stiles.

“Lydia,” he said as a way of greeting, “glad to see you’ve arrived safely. How’s college?” Lydia couldn’t help it. Derek trying to be social was intensely amusing and she let a genuine laugh escape her. Derek gaped and was such an unexpected human reaction it made her laugh even harder.

The door to the apartment opened noisily and someone more or less fell into the room.

“What’s so funny?”

Lydia let the laugher morph into an extremely girly shriek of joy and literally leapt from her seat and straight into Stiles’ waiting arms. His breath tickled her ear as he chuckled good-naturedly, hugging her tightly. God, she’d missed him!

“Auch, Lydia sweetie, you’ve got some claws on you, woman,” Stiles joked and Lydia hit him playfully on the back of his head. She was rewarded with a genuine laugh and she hugged him even harder. Eventually she let him go, though rather reluctantly.

“I’ve missed you, you big dork,” she said with her trademark pout and Stiles grinned cheekily.

“Always knew I’d wear you down and make you love me, Lydia Martin,” he said with a wink. “Three words baby: Ten year plan.”

Someone groaned behind her, but then again someone usually did whenever Stiles talked like that. She glared at him mockingly, arms perched on her hips.

“Don’t be obnoxious, Stilinski. Otherwise I’ll have to hurt you, and I just got a manicure today and would hate to mess up my nails again because of you.” Stiles threw his hands in the air in one of his telltale flailing motions. Cora, who was carrying a tray of coffee mugs and cookies, had to dive to avoid a direct hit.

“Watch the paws, Stiles!” she admonished, but a grin was curling on her lips. Stiles threw his backpack on the floor and flopped down on the sofa, bringing Lydia with him. She landed with an ‘oomph’ across his lap and he laughed heartily.

“You’re like a feather.”

“And you’re like an animal,” she threw back mockingly. She grinned up at him getting a good look in the process. He looked good. Tired, but good. Her eyes caught the tail end of the tattoo that was snaking its way down his neck and quickly scrambled to get a better look.

“Oh my god, Lydia,” Stiles groaned as she rearranged herself so that she was straddling him. “Mind the family jewels.”

She ignored him and traced the black lines with her finger. It curled around his neck and disappeared down the neckline of his t-shirt. She tugged at it to get a better look. It was no use, the light was too poor and the material of his shirt uncharacteristically tight.

“Eh, Lyds, what are you doing?” Stiles asked tentatively as she grabbed a hold of his bright yellow t-shirt and began to pull it up.

“I want to see the tattoos,” she answered matter of factly swatting at his hands that were trying to regain control of his own shirt. “You told me about them, and I’m really curious. You’ve had even more done since the last time we talked about this,” she concluded as she traced the elaborate symbols on his stomach and up his chest.

“Yeah, but that still does not change the fact that I’m not keen on stripping to appease your curiosity, Lydia,” said Stiles firmly and stilled her hands with a firm grip. She couldn’t help but pout. “Tuck the pout away, Lydia, it’s not gonna work.”

Someone muttered “good riddance” and she thought it might be Derek. She threw a dirty look over her shoulder and saw that he was sitting stiffly at the dining table his arms crossed and eyes lifted skyward like he was praying to a higher deity. The front door banged open, startling Stiles, and Lydia took advantage of the situation and pulled the t-shirt up again. His tattoos were simply mesmerizing.

“Eh, dudes, why is Lydia undressing Stiles?”

Scott stood in the middle of the room looking uncharacteristically frazzled. His eyebrows had disappeared into his fringe making him look like a huge puppy dog. His hair was getting ridiculously floppy again, Lydia noted.

“That’s something Stiles would like to know as well,” said Stiles pointedly and flopped Lydia onto the sofa. He rose and craned his neck to look behind Scott. Scott sighed and peeled of his jacket. Cora handed him a cup of coffee and he accepted it with a mumbled thank you.

“Where’s Allison?”

Lydia turned to look at Scott too, and he slumped down on the chair opposite Derek. “I have absolutely no idea,” he admitted dejectedly. Stiles immediately jumped to his feet.

“What? You mean you couldn’t get her out of jail on bail?” Scott shook his head. Lydia for her part was struggling to wrap her head around the words ‘ _jail_ ’ and ‘ _bail_ ’.

“Excuse me, what are you talking about? Why is Allison in jail?”

Scott groaned and leveled Stiles with a glare. “You called Lydia in the middle of the night and you conveniently forgot to tell her that her best friend got arrested?”

“What? Stiles! Is this true? Why didn’t you say anything?”

Stiles had begun pacing the length of the room and just shrugged defensively. “It slipped my mind, Lyds, I was too worked out about the symbols remember. Did you see them by the way?”

Lydia glared at him. “Stop deflecting, I’ll get to that in a moment. Tell me about Allison!”

And so Stiles launched into the story about how they rode into town in separate vehicles and Allison got pulled over.

“So,” says Isaac slowly when they’d finished the tale, “Allison basically took the blame for all the weapons and shit you brought along and still managed to hand over the bestiary before they brought her in?”

Stiles nodded. “Yes, that’s right. I know the police procedure for this kind of case and thought they would set bail for her within noon today. She called me on my burner and said the same thing.”

Isaac looked like he wanted to ask some more questions, but a quelling glare from Derek shut him up. Cora looked a bit miffed. Turnarounds a bitch, mused Lydia. Just a few moments ago Isaac had been jealous of Cora’s past feelings for Stiles, and now Cora looked pained to see how invested he was in Allison’s welfare.

“I still don’t get it,” said Stiles with a frown. “Why hadn’t they set bail?”

Scott looked queasy Lydia noted. “That’s the thing, when I got there they had no record of Allison in their system.”

Stiles looked like he was about to launch into a tirade and Scott stopped him with a hand gesture. “Yes, I asked them to double check. I even looked at the screen myself. But then your dad showed up.”

Stiles looked startled and Scott once again signaled for him to calm down. “Don’t worry, he doesn’t know you’re here and I didn’t tell him anything. Though I think you should talk to him, he looks on the brink of breakdown, dude.”

Stiles didn’t comment, though Lydia could tell he was troubled. She caught Scott’s eye and nodded silently. She’d definitely talk to Stiles later, this had gone on long enough.

“So, then where is she?” asked Stiles frazzled. He was still pacing, but stopped dead when Derek threw out a hand to block his path. For a moment it looked like he was about to lose it, but then he shrugged and sank into the chair Derek pulled out for him.

“Apparently a couple of FBI agents showed up and demanded to talk to her. Then your dad got a phone call from their superior demanding they release her into their custody. They took the car, the weapons and everything and vanished into the night. The sheriff had no idea where they went, but seems to think that Allison is some sort of undercover FBI agent.”

Cora and Isaac looked stunned and Lydia found she too was at a loss for words. How could this happen? Surprisingly, it was Derek who spoke up.

“I met a couple of FBI agents,” he said with a frown. “Out in the preserve after I showed the offer site by the Nemeton to the Sheriff.”

Stiles turned and glared at him. “Tell me again why you thought it was a good idea to drag my dad out to the Nemeton? I thought we’d agreed to sort this kind of thing out ourselves.”

Derek rolled his eyes and sighed deeply. “Because, Stiles, the deputies had been assigned to search the preserve for any sign of mountain lion to explain the grave desecrations. I believe we can thank Dr.Deaton for supplying that piece of information, so you should really take your frustration out on him instead. I thought it would be easier for me to control and monitor the situation if I were the one to report it. They would’ve stumbled across it eventually anyway.”

Stiles mumbled something that made the werewolves chortle and Derek glare with renewed venom. Lydia prided herself on her ability to read and understand relationships but she had yet to figure out the inner workings of Derek and Stiles’ weird friendship.

“Anyway,” said Derek, pointedly ignoring Stiles’ death glare, “I met two FBI agents who for some reason seemed overtly interested in me. I got the distinct feeling they knew more than they were letting on. If it weren’t for the fact that I overheard the Sheriff talking to their superior I would’ve pegged them for hunters.”

Scott and Stiles exchanged worried glances and Lydia scanned her brain for a way to trace Allison. Surely, she couldn’t just up and vanish?

“Do you have any emergency way of contacting her?” she asked Stiles and he shook his head.

“I never thought it would be necessary to be honest. I doubt she still has her phone, but I’ll give it a try.” He pulled out what was obviously a burner phone and dialed a number by heart. Within seconds he snapped it shut and shook his head. “Straight to voice mail. I doubt she’d still use it, and besides the “agents” might have taken it from her for all we know.”

Lydia snapped her fingers and let out a triumphant crow. “I’ve got it! If she still has the phone and it’s just turned off, or even if the agents have it, it can be traced. I’ll give Danny a call.”

She grabbed her bag and pulled out her phone and began scrolling down the contact list. Scott let out a relieved sigh.

“Why didn’t I think of that? Or better yet, why didn’t you think of that, Stiles? You and Danny were great friends at the end of high school. Hell, you even roomed together at college before he transferred.”

Lydia noticed Stiles looked oddly uncomfortable. “Slipped my mind, I guess,” he mumbled unenthusiastically.

Lydia had the phone to her ear and watched her best friends squirm in his seat. “Hold on, oh, I’m getting his voice mail.” She left a short message to call her back as soon as possible and put the phone back in her purse.

“Thanks, Lydia,” said Scott gratefully. Stiles still looked somewhat ruffled, but she decided to let it slide. Stiles was ruffled more often than not, anyway. And…was Derek… _growling_? She squinted her eyes pensively. Derek was sitting stiffly in his chair, his eyes firmly trained on a spot above Scott’s head. She could see the veins on his neck bulging, like he was struggling to control his temper. Curious.

“Okay,” said Cora as she placed a tray of mini pizzas on the table. “Until Danny calls back there’s really not much we can do about the Allison situation. I assume you’ve tried Chris again?” She’d directed the question to Stiles who’d wasted no time with the pizzas.

“Mmhm,” he nodded his mouth brimming with food. Lydia shuddered internally. He’d never really been one for table manners. «I tried calling him again about an hour ago. It goes straight to voice mail, which is weird. He might be a prickly dick, but he’s good at getting back to you. I suppose he’s knee deep in some hunter-shit somewhere, but I find it odd that he didn’t let Allison know about it. They keep in contact pretty much daily.”

“Let’s get Danny to trace his phone as well,” suggested Isaac. “Just to be on the safe side.”

Lydia nodded. “Absolutely, good thinking. I’ll be sure to let him know as soon as he calls me back. Or do you prefer to, Stiles? You’re way more tech-savvy than me.”

Stiles shook his head vehemently (mouth still full of pizza). Lydia arched an eyebrow and he glared at her. Something weird was going on and she intended to get very much to the bottom of it before she returned to school.

Scott still looked frazzled and worried, but a steely resolved had come over him. “I think it’s time we go through all the information we have. This is clearly supernatural in nature and it seems the Nemeton is involved, which lands it smack dab on our plate. Derek, why don’t you start?”

The next half hour was spent going through the strange happenings around town chronologically. Lydia had little to offer, but took it upon herself to take down the most detailed minutes known to man. Cora had produced a large whiteboard and some markers, and it was now an array of names, dates and a disturbingly long list of missing organs that they’d compiled mostly based on what Derek had found in the woods and what info Scott’s mom had managed to wrangle out of the sheriff over one of their many candle lit dinners.

“So let me get this right,” Lydia summarized, “So far six graves have been dug up and we know for sure that two of them were missing organs, am I right?”

Scott nodded. “Yes, Sheriff Stilinski actually came to Deaton’s and showed us some grizzly pictures. I managed to steal one of them.” He reached into his jacket and procured a somewhat crumpled photo, handing it to Cora. She looked at it and grimaced.

“That is not a pretty sight,” she said dryly and pinned it to the whiteboard. Lydia had to concur. It looked like someone had taken a chainsaw to the body.

«Seriously, did my dad actually believe Deaton’s theory of mountain lion? Because I assume that’s what he tried to sell him, am I right. Dude’s got no imagination whatsoever.”

Scott chuckled. “Yeah, you’re right. He tried to blame it on the lions again, but your dad looked far from convinced.”

“I assume this is the same organs that wound up as some sort of ritual sacrifice out by the Nemeton.” Lydia arched an eyebrow at Scott and Derek. Derek nodded.

“I think so, but there were body parts from more than two bodies out in the woods. I snapped some photos before I called the Sheriff.”

He produced his phone and found them with relative ease. “Should I pass this around? Send them to your phones?” He looked genuinely bewildered and Lydia watched Stiles smirk. She just knew he was brimming with tech-jokes but seemed oddly content to keep them to himself. Just as well. Stiles’ barbs at Derek usually led them both horribly off topic.

“Give me your phone, and I’ll connect it to the printer,” said Cora and Derek handed it over looking like half the words spoken had been in a foreign language. Cora shook her head. “Blue tooth, Derek. Ever heard of it?»

Stiles snorted and Derek glared with arms crossed. The sound of the printer springing to life thankfully distracted them. A moment later, the whiteboard contained a disturbing gallery of human remains.

“I’ve lost my appetite,” said Lydia firmly and pushed her plate of half-eaten mini pizza away. Stiles was still eating, the mongrel.

“What is that on the left top picture?”

“I think that’s a kidney.”

“Yes definitely kidney. And I count four brains…”

“Actually I think it’s five.”

Lydia furrowed her forehead. “Do you mean this here is also brain?” She turned to Stiles who was nodding furiously.

“Yup. I’ve had the unfortunate pleasure of seeing brain matter up close and personal before thanks to Mama McCall, and I’m telling you that pile of mush there was someone’s brain once upon a time.”

“So five brains, five hearts, two kidneys, one lung – dear god, that is repulsive – and also a liver?” Derek leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees looking pensive.

“Don’t forget the two bodies that were also on display. Or, should I say what was left of them. I was at the scene for quite some time after the police and the FBI got there, so I managed to overhear the Coroner talking to some of his colleagues and they were pretty sure the two bodies were someone called Isabella Tibbs and something Fry-Smith. I think his first name might’ve been Oscar or maybe Oswald.”

Stiles suddenly sprung into action.

“Can I borrow your laptop, Cora?” he asked and started pacing up and down the floor when she went to get it. He snatched it out her hands as soon as she reentered the room and began booting it up while muttering to himself.

“You’re welcome,” Cora mumbled sarcastically and for a few moments, no one said a thing. They were all watching Stiles who were gesturing madly for the laptop to hurry along and groaned gratefully when the Windows tune rang out.

“Now let’s Google this shit,” he said gleefully. “Give me those names again, Derek my dear.” Derek grumbled but did as asked. The room collectively held its breath while Stiles worked his google-fu.

“Hah!” he exclaimed triumphantly and they all startled. “There’s a connection. Of course, there’s a connection and it’s a pretty grim one. Get a hold of this:  ‘ _Man mowed down_ ’ – whoa what a creative heading – anyway, listen to this: ’ _53 year old Greg Fry-Smith was the victim of a terrible home accident yesterday when he was mowed down and killed by his own lawn mower. There were no witnesses to the incident and the sheriff’s office is still trying to piece together how this happened._ ’

Scott jumped to his feet and peered over Stiles’ back. “Oh my god, that can’t be a coincident.” Cora was already adding the information to the whiteboard while Stiles continued to read tidbits of the article out loud.

“It even makes a reference to the grave desecrations. ‘ _This marks yet another terrible blow to the Fry-Smith family who was one of the families that had the grave of a loved one brutally destroyed just days before_.’

Scott wrinkled his forehead. “Okay, so the body of Oscar or Oswald or whatever his name is removed from his grave and a couple of days later a close relative is killed in a freak accident that shouldn’t even be physically possible. I mean how do you mow yourself to death? This smells very fishy to me.”

“Fishy’s not the smell that comes to mind,” says Derek dryly, “but I agree.”

“Especially if it’s not the only case,” added Stiles giddily. «I’ve found another connection. This is just a small note in the paper a few days after the mower-thingy, but still – ‘ _Willow Lane was haunted by a most tragic home accident yesterday when 31 year old Henry Tibbs was run over by his own car. The circumstances surrounding the incident are still unclear. Henry Tibbs leaves behind two small children, now orphaned. Tibbs’ wife, Isabella, died last month after battling ovary cancer_.’”

Derek had gotten to his feet as well and grabbed a marker of his own, adding Henry Tibbs’ name to the whiteboard in a considerably more messy scrawl than Cora.

“That’s two cases of a missing body ending up with a dead relative,” whistled Isaac. “What are the odds?”

“Do you really want to know?” asked Lydia innocently. Isaac looked confused. Stiles came to his rescue.

“Don’t answer that, dude. She’s only baiting you and if you say yes she’ll bore you to tears with a string of mathematical theorems with escalating difficulty.”

Lydia pouted. “You’re such a spoilsport.”

Stiles grinned at her cheekily. “Oh, you’ll get over it. Moving on,” he turned back to the laptop. “As far as we know there’s one more body missing and that is…”

“Ruth Greenberg,” supplied Cora readily. Scott smacked his hand to his forehead and groaned loudly.

“You can stop the Google search, bro. I doubt you’ll find anything relevant.”

“Why? What do you know?”

Scott rubbed his chin and sighed. "My mom told me that Greenberg was admitted to the psych ward a couple of days ago. They suspect he's had a breakdown after not just losing his mom, but her grave being dug up as well. Not everyone handles grief and trauma all that well, and yeah. Your dad was called in to talk to him," he added as an afterthought.

Stiles had abandoned the laptop and was leaning forward eagerly. It made the tattoos on his neck more visible and once again, Lydia ached to get a better look at them.

“You need to call your mom,” said Derek matter of factly, "find out if she knows anything more."

Scott nodded. «Yeah, I’ll do that right away. You carry on, I’ll be right back. »  

Scott left the room and Derek automatically took control.

“So, we know that something is sacrificing organs and dead bodies by the Nemeton. The question we need to ask ourselves is why.”

Lydia nodded. «I agree. Is it trying to draw power from it, or is the goal to make it even stronger? And for what purpose?”

Cora chewed her lower lip thoughtfully. «I don’t know but to me it seems like it’s trying to appease it or something. Why else would you bring something to it like an offer?”

Stiles was scratching the back of his neck and bouncing his feet, both telltale signs that he was in full thinking mode.

“Could this be another case of Druid gone dark side? Jennifer sacrificed a lot of lives to gain power for herself, but this seems even darker somehow. Killing people for the purpose of power I kind of get – I don’t approve or condone it in any way, but “logically” speaking it sort of makes sense. You bring the Nemeton blood of the living with specific traits and as a reward you gain their power. Digging up corpses and laying out half rotten organs however seems beyond dark. What would that achieve?”

“I suspect you already have a theory?» Lydia leveled Stiles with one of her patented stares that always let her have things her way. Stiles shrugged.

“Maybe. I have an idea based on something I came across in South-America. It’s actually the reason why I asked you to stop at that cemetery earlier today. It’s not an exact replica of what’s going on here but there’s a lot over overlapping factors such as graves being dug up. It was never concluded whether the symbols had anything to do with it, but I just wanted to make sure. Did you take any photos?”

Lydia nodded and grabbed her phone. She quickly checked her messages, but Danny still hadn’t returned her call. With a few practiced taps she’d transferred them to the Dropbox folder she shared with Stiles for just this kind of purpose. He pulled them up on the laptop and they all gathered around to get a closer look.

“Shit,” whistled Isaac, “that looks like one creepy cemetery. And I’ve spent some time in cemeteries so I should know. And these symbols look…”

“Demonic,” said Derek and Lydia nodded.

“That was my first thought as well. They seem almost demonic in their simplicity. But the question is – what is their purpose? I did a little light reading before coming here and demonic symbols can be divided into several groups depending on your objective. Do you want to summon a demon? Do you want to draw power from demons? Do you want to make a deal with a demon? Or are you perhaps trying to ward against them?”

Stiles made a sound somewhere between a snort and a laugh and Lydia looked at him eyebrow raised but he just shrugged and continued tapping his foot. Was he ever still? “Assuming that these symbols were linked to the bodies that went missing in that other town and that were experiencing something similar here in Beacon Hills, shouldn’t we’ve found similar symbols by now?”

Cora turned to Derek. “You haven’t found anything in the Preserve, have you?»

Derek shook his head. «No, and you’d think they’d be by the Nemeton if they were important to the rituals somehow.”

Stiles jumped to his feet like he just couldn’t bear to be still for another minute and resumed his pacing up and down the floor.

“I think perhaps we’ve got it backwards,” he rambled, arms flailing in all directions. “The grave robbing stopped in that other town, right? What if these symbols were the reason it stopped?”

Lydia was fascinated, but the rest of the gang looked confused. Even Derek looked more skeptical than usual. Stiles looked frustrated.

“Okay, hear me out. I’ve been looking into this theory about demons as well. I’ve come across some references to that down in South America and there’re some striking similarities. Dead bodies going missing, organs turning up in a ritualistic fashion. In this one town in Guatemala things got especially shitty sometime during the 70s according to this guy I got to know down there. And apparently the solution was to seal it shut rather than kill it.”

Suddenly Lydia knew exactly what Stiles had in mind. “That’s why you sent me to look at the symbols! You think they’re what stopped it there. It’s somehow sealing it shut, locking it in!”

“Exactly,” Stiles beamed ecstatically. «In Guatemala the symbols were written on this huge statue of a local god-like creature. I’m guessing it holds similar properties as the Nemeton. That mausoleum with the symbols on, did you get a feel for it?”

Lydia shuddered at the thought. The cemetery had been a wholeheartedly gruesome experience making all her banshee nerves tingle.

“I felt it alright,” she confirmed firmly. “As soon as I passed through the gates I had to fight the urge to scream like a mad woman. There are definitely strong forces being held at bay there. The symbols are thankfully intact and in good condition. I took the time to trace every line carefully. I even took samples.» She gestured to the lab bag on the table. “I thought I’d analyze them just to be certain but I suspect it’s a combination of human blood, mistletoe and sulfur.”

“Good,” said Stiles, “I think we need to whip up a batch of our own sooner rather than later. You up for that, Lyds?”

“Of course,” she said with a warm smile.

“I’ll help,” volunteered Cora. “We have a generous storage of mistletoe and sulfur. And I guess we can get some of you humans to make a blood donation.”

Isaac had been quiet throughout most of the exchange. “You alright, Isaac?” she asked, voice laced with concern. Isaac shrugged.

“Yeah, it’s just…  _Demons_? It’s almost like I can’t believe we’re actually sitting here discussing how to trap a demon. That’s just… I mean, what’s next? Angels are real?”

Derek snorted and Stiles laughed mirthlessly. «If – and I mean if angels are real, I somehow don’t think we need to worry about them here in Beacon Hills. Now, the devil on the other hand, he I wouldn’t be surprised to see.”

Isaac did not look amused. The door burst open and Scott walked in still on the phone but clearly in the process of wrapping it up.

“Alright mom, I’ll see you soon. Bye.”

He ended the call and glanced around the room at all the dejected faces. “Uh, clearly I’ve missed something,” he said tentatively and squinted at the whiteboard were Cora had written DEMONS in huge block letters at the top.

“Demons? Seriously? Oh crap!»

Stiles clapped him on the shoulder and attempted one of his cheeky grins. “There, there o’ alpha of mine. Don’t look so glum. It could be worse! It could be the devil himself. And besides we think we know how to put a lid on it so to speak.”

“That does not sound reassuring somehow,” said Scott tiredly and slumped down in the sofa next to Lydia.

“Did your mom know anything more about the Greenberg thing?” asked Lydia primly with a glance at her phone. Still no reply from Danny. Scott sighed.

«That she did. Turns out that Greenberg – yes our Greenberg – was indeed committed to the psych. Apparently some neighbors brought him in after he’d barged into their house ranting and blubbering on about zombies and his mom trying to kill him with a knife.”

“Eh,” said Derek a deep furrow visible on his forehead, “how could his dead mom try to kill him. His very dead and very missing mom, I might add.”

Scott nodded. “Exactly. Sounds impossible and batshit insane, and when he wouldn’t calm down and continued to insist that his zombie mom wanted to murder him, it didn’t take much to have him committed. Apparently they wrote it off as a mental breakdown due to losing his mom a few months ago and then having her grave dug open.”

“Why do I feel like we’ve stepped into a very creepy episode of  _The Walking Dead_ ,” asked Isaac looking slightly queasy. “Demons and zombies. That doesn’t sound like a good combination.”

Lydia felt pieces slotting together in her mind and the picture they’d been trying to piece together became slightly clearer. And a whole lot scarier.

“Necromancy,» she whispered feeling a chill run down her spine. «Someone, possibly a demon or someone possessed by one, is using the Nemeton to either draw strength or summon something even more sinister. While the organs are used as simple offers, the bodies are being reanimated and seem to be going after relatives.”

Stiles snapped his fingers giddily. “Oh my god, I think you’re on to something. I don’t like the sound of it one bit, but it sort of makes sense. Assuming that Greenberg is in fact not a total nutcase and did indeed see his dead mom, then it strongly suggests that someone is controlling the dead and sending them after relatives to collect their brains. Holy cow, this is the most disgusting and disturbing thing we’ve ever had to deal with.”

Scott looked like someone had run him over with a bulldozer, but he kept nodding his head in a depressingly sad way. “We need to talk to Greenberg, don’t we?”

Stiles nodded frantically. «Yes, sooner rather than later. Do you think you can get your mom to sneak us in?”

Scott looked scandalized. “No way, dude. I just spent a good fifteen minutes trying to coax out a few tidbits about this thing and she can lose her job if she is caught. I’m not risking that, Stiles. I’m sure you can understand that.”

Stiles nodded with a faraway and haunted look in his eyes. “Sorry, Scott. You’re right, we’ll keep your mom out of it. Let’s see if we can swipe a card of someone else or maybe you can climb in werewolf style?»

Scott snorted. “We’ll think of something. Mom did tell me your dad went to see him. She don’t think he entirely believed him, but he did let it slip that they’d found half-rotten body parts and brain matter on the walls in their house. Greenberg claims he whacked his zombie mom over the head with his lacrosse stick.”

“This is so surreal,” said Cora and threw down her marker. “I can’t bring myself to put ‘zombies’ on the board.”

“Speaking of your dad, Stiles,” said Lydia tentatively. Stiles froze in his frantic pacing to look at her with a resigned look on his face. “I think you should know that I ran into him at the cemetery earlier today.”

Stiles’ eyes bugged out. “You did what now? Why didn’t you tell me sooner? What did he say?”

Lydia shrugged and tossed her hair. "He didn’t say much. I think I startled him and of course, he wanted to know what I was doing there. I tried to carefully guide him on to the right track, but he still seems adamant to ignore a supernatural explanation. So you’re still in the clear.”

Stiles sighed in relief and kneeled down to rummage through his backpack. Lydia chewed her lip, not sure, whether to… yes, she had to.

“Although,” she began slowly and watched as Stiles’ shoulders froze and his body became rigid. “I might have let it slip that I’m in regular contact with you. He seemed hurt when I told him.” She looked at him imploringly. “Stiles, when was the last time you spoke with your father?”

Stiles rose to his feet again, angrily shoving his hands in his pockets. He looked like a petulant child. A hot petulant child with delicious tattoos. “None of your business, Lydia,” he hissed through clenched teeth and she rolled her eyes.

“Fine, I’ll not say another word. But you really shouldn’t try so hard to shut him out. I know you think you’re protecting him, but you’re hurting him more this way.”

“Just drop it, will you,” said Stiles turning around with such force that he stumbled and landed more or less in Derek’s lap.

“Oops, sorry,” he muttered a grinned weakly. “Sometimes gravity’s not my friend.”

Derek looked like he was biting down a retort and simply plucked Stiles out of his lap and shoved him to his feet. Stiles eyed him suspiciously and Lydia didn’t blame him. Incidents like this usually ended in longwinded yet entertaining bantering with escalating creativity.

“Huh,” said Stiles in wonder, exchanging a bewildered look with Scott, who simply shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. “Someone clearly rained on your parade, Derbear, and I don’t think it was me. I haven’t been here long enough for that.”

“Demons, Stiles,” said Derek grumpily. «Apparently there’re demons on the loose, so excuse me if I’m not a ray of sunshine.”

Stiles did a huge number of backing away slowly, hands raised. “Duly noted,” he said sarcastically. “Though it’s fair to point out that you’ve never been considered a ray of sunshine, demons or not.” Derek actually growled and Stiles grinned. He did a silly sort of jig and seemed to be trying to shake off something. He grinned toothily in his familiar fashion but to Lydia’s trained eye, he seemed to be overcompensation. It was just a tad too Stiles, like he was faking it.

What was he hiding?

Stiles picked up his backpack and turned to Scott who was still slumped down in the sofa seemingly lost in his own thoughts and worry about Allison.

“Yo, Scotty, I just need a quick trip to the bathroom and then we can head over to the hospital, alright?” Scott nodded numbly.

They all scurried into motion. Cora and Isaac began clearing the table and putting away the whiteboard. Lydia meandered over to the dining room table where her lab bag was still lying untouched. She thought she’d get the analysis of the paint done as soon as possible so that Cora could start pulling the right ingredients. She worked silently and effectively setting everything up. Derek was still sitting there with an uncharacteristically pained expression.

“Is everything alright?” she asked casually, taking care not to look at him while she continued assembling her portable lab. She more felt than saw Derek shrug. She sighed deeply. “Good to see that your communication skills are coming along nicely,” she said pleasantly. Derek replied with stony silence. Lydia tossed her hair and filed the conundrum that was Derek Hale under “unsolvable cases”. She gave up.

“There’s something wrong with him.”

Lydia nearly dropped a vial. Did Derek just say something? _Voluntarily_?

“I’m sorry,” she ventured carefully. She felt like one of those wildlife reporters, treading lightly not to spook an animal. “Did you say something?”

Derek met her eyes and the raw emotion shook her to the core. He seemed genuinely concerned. Scared even. “Stiles,” he whispered like he didn’t really trust his own voice. «There’s something wrong with him. Why can’t anyone else see that?”

"What do you mean, ‘wrong with him’,» she asked with genuine concern. She hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary. He was jittery and hyper as always, perhaps turned a notch or two higher than usual. Then again the situation was dire.

“His heartbeat is off,” muttered Derek glancing at the bathroom door. “He’s usually all over the place, but now it’s just… even. It doesn’t feel right.»

"Maybe it’s the training,» suggested Lydia. “He’s mentioned some sort of mental exercises, maybe he’s learned how to control his heartbeat?”

Derek shook his head. “It’s not like that. It’s true that people who’re gifted at meditation can control it to a certain degree. I’ve been around people like that, and I could always tell anyway. They might fool a polygraph, but not a werewolf. Stiles however – his heartbeat is scarily even. You’ve seen him today - his mannerisms are all over the place, flailing, dejection, anger, elation. The entire time – not a glitch in the heartbeat, nothing.”

Lydia furrowed her forehead suddenly feeling very uneasy. What was Derek trying to say exactly?

“Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?” she whispered aghast. It was a terrifying thought. Derek looked gutted as he raised a single eyebrow.

"I don’t know,» he admitted. “But I suggest we keep an eye on him.” Lydia nodded.

The bathroom door opened and Stiles walked out, backpack in hand. She smiled at him while cataloguing every aspect of his behavior. He grinned and winked and it was so typical Stiles that she couldn’t fathom anything being amiss. Still, Derek was worried. Stiles did seem calmer somehow after his trip to the bathroom. And why had he brought the backpack?

She watched as Stiles and Scott gathered their stuff and waved goodbye. Derek audibly exhaled when the door shut behind them.

“Well,” said Lydia primly, pouring over the samples with renewed vigor. “I think I’ll do a bit of light reading on demonic possession after I’ve finished this, you know. Just to be on the safe side.”

Derek nodded looking strangely open and raw. Then he did something he’d never done before. He laid a hand gratefully on Lydia’s shoulder and squeezed lightly. Lydia went to work with renewed incentive.

 


	16. Allison

Allison had thought some of the motels Stiles and she’d stayed in on the road back to Beacon Hills had been bad.

She’d been wrong.

Her current location upgraded their dingy low cost motels to five star accommodations by comparison. She’d woken up feeling sluggish and gross on top of a bedspread that probably hadn’t seen any kind of detergent since it was produced. Judging by its color scheme and pattern that was probably sometime during the mid-70s. Since then she’d been pacing the room dreaming of a shower. Every surface of the room was so gross, she’d put off sitting down for as long as possible.

Waiting for the FBI-agents to return soon grew tiresome. In desperation, she’d found a somewhat clean-looking towel in the bathroom and spread it over the bed. That bedspread – not something she would be touching again. Ever.

Allison took stock of the situation. She was locked in a motel room with a dingy looking lock that she could probably pick in less than five seconds even wearing handcuffs. An admirable plan if it weren’t for the fact that the two FBI agents were right outside, having a very heated discussion. The handcuffs would also pose a problem unless she could get a hold of the key. She was not particularly keen on breaking a thumb or snapping her wrist to get out of them.

A quick search of the room had revealed no other exits, a family of cockroaches in the bathroom (no longer among the living), the aforementioned bedspread with the questionable stains and a wall covered floor to ceiling with photos and investigation notes that put Stiles’ wall of weird to shame. She’d taken the time to peruse it while waiting for her detainers to return, and it was the usual mix of stuff she’d suspected to find, like copies of police reports, coroner reports, crime scene photos and newspaper clippings. In addition, there were long scriptures of what looked like Latin and an array of satanic looking symbols and illustrations that looked like they belonged in Dante’s lowest circle of hell. What were they teaching agents at Quantico these days?

Allison figured being arrested in her hometown and by Stiles’ dad was bad enough, but this – this was beyond bad. The golden rule as a hunter was simple – never get caught. Her dad had taken any opportunity to remind her of this – stay visible, be the pillar of the community, and conduct the family business away from prying eyes. Lives literally depended on their skill, dedication and discretion. She’d messed up royally and now she could end up behind bars for a very, very long time. It was a sobering thought, and if she had to choose between jail and a life on the run, Allison would prefer the latter.

She steeled herself. If the opportunity arose, she needed to be ready.

The door opened with a brain-churning squeak and the two agents shuffled inside. Allison hadn’t paid much attention to them at the station the night before. She’d been too preoccupied freaking the fuck out internally while appearing calm and poised, and had therefore very little recollection of what happened after Sheriff Stilinski lead her out of the station and released her into their custody.

She remembered asking them to call her dad, and how surprised she’d been when one of them handed her a phone. It had gone straight to voice mail, but she’d felt better knowing her dad would get her message and would soon help get her out of this mess.

Allison raised her chin defiantly and glared from one to the other. They were handsome, she noted irritably, as if that was important. Furthermore, they had an air about them, like they definitely knew what they were doing. Neither had bothered to dress particularly FBI-ish today. The tall one was sporting a plaid shirt and jeans and the other a worn leather jacket. The tallest sent a tentative smile her way and put a laptop down on the rickety table by the only window. The other brandished a pistol and expertly unclipped it. He sighed, pulled out the other chair, turned it and straddled it. Allison fought the urge to snort.

“I see you’re awake,” he said in a raspy voice. Allison pursed her lips. She’d woken up on top of the gross bedspread and just thinking about it made her skin crawl.

“You slept for quite a while,” he continued. “We might’ve given you a light sedative last night.” He looked almost sheepish and scratched his chin nervously. “I don’t know if you remember, but you tried to run off when we got here, and well.” He smirked, not sounding particularly apologetic. The other one harrumphed, but didn’t comment.

Well, thought Allison irritably. That explained the sore shoulder at least.

The one with the floppy hair sent her a lopsided grin. “We really are sorry about that. How’s your head? A side effect can be slight headache or nausea.”

“I’m fine,” said Allison curtly, although her head was in fact throbbing. There was no way she was accepting any more “medicine” from these guys. She’d rather suffer in silence.

He looked relieved and quickly averted his eyes back to the laptop that apparently was done booting up. He brushed some stray hairs behind his ears and promptly froze. “Oh, I almost forgot.” He reached into his jacket and retrieved a bottle of water and a lumpy looking sandwich. He rose and handed it to Allison who reluctantly accepted it. She’d love to refuse it, but she was starving. Muttering a thanks, she tore into the sandwich. It tasted like cardboard and still it was heaven.

The scruffy one cleared his throat awkwardly. “Okay, I realize we probably got off to a somewhat rocky start. I’m Dean by the way and this here’s my brother Sam.”

_Brothers_  and  _partners_? That certainly was unusual.

“Sorry about the abduction last night, but we thought it best to play it out as authentically as possible to not make the local sheriff too suspicious. I got a feeling he wasn’t one to let things go too easily.”

Allison was officially lost. What were they on about?

“Sorry about the crabby accommodations.” He gestured around the ramshackle room. “We’re trying to avoid any money trails and curious eyes at the moment and have learned the hard way that the sadder the motel, the less questions asked.”

Allison swallowed a mouthful of water while glancing from one to the other. Why would FBI agents try to stay hidden? Were they undercover? More importantly, what did they want with her? She took a deep breath and willed her inner hunter persona to come to the surface. She sat up straight and decided to address the tall one. Sam, was it? He seemed the more normal of the two, and she used the term ‘normal’ loosely.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t understand why FBI agents need to live like vermin. Are you undercover? And what do you want with me?”

The brothers exchanged startled looks and a whole conversation seemed to be carried out using just their eyes and eyebrows.

“Uh,” began Sam tentatively. “You mean to tell me you don’t know what we are?”

Allison felt her patience wearing thin. “Seriously, you barge into a sheriff station and demand to have me released into your custody, then you drug me and lock me in the world’s most disgusting pigsty of a room all while brandishing FBI badges. What am I supposed to take from that? I want to go with seriously disturbed FBI agents, but I’m kind of hoping for a more reasonable explanation.”

Sam and Dean exchanged another wordless, eyebrow-heavy conversation. Dean finally turned towards her again with a weary sigh.

“First, just to clarify. You are Allison  _Argent_ , right? Granddaughter of  _Gerard Argent_?”

Allison grimaced. “Unfortunately, yes,” she answered venomously.

Dean looked momentarily taken aback. “What exactly do you mean by  _unfortunately_?” asked Sam, a deep furrow visibly on his forehead. He looked like a gigantic puppy dog. Allison sighed.

“Look, I don’t see how my arrest has anything to do with my granddad, so why do you want to know? Let’s just say we have parted ways due to irreconcilable differences and leave it at that, huh?”

Dean looked confused. “So, do you mean to say you’ve left the… eh,  _family business_?”

Family business? What on earth were they on about now? For a fleeting moment, she wondered if they meant her dad’s cover job as a weapons dealer, but then it dawned on her. Of course. That explained the strange symbols on the wall and a whole lot of the strange behavior, crappy motel room included.

“You’re hunters.”

It wasn’t a question. Sam and Dean both looked visibly relieved. Allison leaned back against the headboard and felt her headache intensify. With the luck she was having lately, they were probably trigger-happy Gerard clones looking for an ally.

“Yes, we are,” said Sam and smiled tentatively. “It’s nice to meet you. We recognized your name – Argent.”

He brandished an old and battered leather book and flipped to one of the latter pages. “This was our dad’s journal. He kept a record of hunters he’d come across. Gerard Argent is mentioned. Apparently they hunted a couple of feral werewolves together back in Georgia in the mid 80s.”

Allison shrugged. “I wouldn’t know,” she confessed tiredly. “Up until a few years ago I didn’t even know he existed. I’d never met him until I was 18, and he breezed into my life and caused nothing but trouble.” She sighed. “If you’re hunters then I gather you know about all the things that go bump in the night. Our family specializes in werewolves, as I’m sure you know, and when I was introduced to the “family business” as you call it, I was taught a code. “ _We hunt those who hunt us_.””

Dean nodded. “Sounds about right. A good code if I ever heard one.”

Allison smiled mirthlessly. “Perhaps, if Gerard only stuck to his own words. He corrupted my aunt and did a good job of messing with my head too for a while. Thankfully, I have friends who helped me see the bigger picture and the error of my ways. Killing werewolves just because they’re werewolves, well that is just racist and prejudiced. My ex-boyfriend is a werewolf. In fact, he’s the alpha of the pack here in Beacon Hills and he’s never killed anyone. Some of my best friends are werewolves, and I learned that monsters come in all shapes and sizes. Sometimes people are the biggest monsters of all. That is why I’ve fashioned a new code –  _We protect those who cannot protect themselves_.”

She glared at them both, daring them to contradict her, but they both seemed gob smacked. “If you’ve pulled me out just to have me go on a killing rampage around town, you’re sorely mistaken. Only when I know exactly what’s going on will I take action.”

Sam crossed his arms and smiled at her with surprising warmth. “Good,” he said firmly taking Allison aback.

“Good?”

He nodded. “Yes, we agree. There is no point in a massacre of all supernatural beings, we should concentrate on the ones responsible and we have a fairly good idea what that might be.”

Now they had her attention. “Well?” She gestured impatiently for them to get on with it, and it was Dean who answered. When he was done talking, Allison was aghast.

“You have got to be kidding me,” she all but shrieked. “That is so not an option! And secondly I don’t buy this theory for a second.”

Sam looked genuinely sorry, but that didn’t stop him from laying the weapon out on the table. She eyed it angrily feeling nauseated and livid – it was not a joyful combination.

“I demand you give me irrefutable proof,” she spat through clenched teeth. “And I guarantee you will never find it, because it is utter bullshit!”

Dean looked like he was about to launch into a furious counter-argument, but was interrupted by the shrill ringing of a phone. Sam reached into his jacket pocket and stared dumbfounded at the phone.

“Who the hell besides Bobby and Cas has this number,” he muttered and answered gruffly.

"Who's this? Ah, fuck, dammit Crowley!" He was silent while whoever this Crowley was, talked. His eyes showed clear sign of surprise. He lowered the phone and offered it to Allison.

“It’s for you,” he said with obvious confusion. Allison took it. The voice on the other end was familiar and for a split second, it filled her with enormous joy.

It didn’t last long.

 


	17. Scott

Swiping an access card to the psych ward of Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital proved to be ridiculously easy. All it took was for Scott to whip out the puppy dog eyes and the goofy smile and that provided all the distraction Stiles needed to not only unclip the card from the nurse’s scrubs but also steal a couple of lab coats from a nearby supply closet.

To say their disguises were flawless was pushing it – Stiles was after all wearing a t-shirt so bright yellow it put the sun to shame, and the tattoos was not something you expected to find on your average doctor or nurse, but Scott supposed at least he was passable. He was at the very least wearing a button down shirt, even if it was in plaid.

Terrible covers or not, at least five nurses had attempted to stop them so far, two of them to inquire about some patients (“Sorry, just got on shift”) and three to flirt shamelessly (“Sorry, we’re in a hurry. Maybe later?”).

The double doors leading to the psych ward stood out with its reinforced steel and huge signs informing them only authorized personnel were allowed beyond this point. Stiles was peering through the windows in the unsubtle manner that was his MO. Scott chortled nervously and glanced down the hall. All was clear on his end.

“There’s no one there,” said Stiles breathlessly and brandished the stolen access card. He swiped it and they let out a collective breath when the light switched from red to green with a soft beep. No code needed.

The doors opened automatically, and they entered at a brisk pace, trying and Scott suspected, failing, to look like they belonged there.

“What now?” asked Scott in a shrill whisper. The corridor seemed to stretch on forever. Behind which door would they find Greenberg? If they had to go door to door the likelihood of being caught was increasing by the second. Stiles glanced through the reinforced window on the first door to the left and immediately backed away.

“So not the right room,” he said with a shudder. “You don’t want to know,” he supplied when Scott raised his eyebrows in silent question. “We need to speed things along a bit,” he muttered and began walking down the corridor. Scott could little do but follow.

About halfway down they came to a door marked “staff room” and Stiles signaled for Scott to stop.

“Can you hear if there’s anyone inside?” he asked anxiously. The door did not have windows like the patient rooms. Scott closed his eyes and willed his werewolves senses into action. He could hear a heartbeat, and first he thought it was one of the patients, maybe someone sedated, because the beat was a little slow and inhumanly even. A quick scan of the nearby doors and it was clear that this was an area for storage rooms, staff bathrooms, the aforementioned (apparently empty) staff room and something scarily labeled ‘restraints’. The only other living thing around was Stiles.

“Dude, your heartbeat is strange,” hissed Scott. Stiles’ mouth twitched but other than that he remained calm. Thas was strange in itself because Stiles Stilinski was never calm.

“Never mind my heart,” murmured Stiles impatiently. “What about the staff room?” Scott closed his eyes again and blocked out Stiles’ heart. He couldn’t hear anything.

“I think it’s empty.”

“Excellent. Stay here and put on your best doctor face if anyone comes.”

He barely had time to open his mouth before Stiles had opened the door and vanished inside. The door closed with a soft click and Scott was left outside, about a dozen questions on the tip on his tongue. It took about three minutes before Stiles reemerged looking smug and triumphant. Scott for his part was on edge and ready to get this over with. He’d just heard someone screaming worse than Lydia followed by what could only be described as a soul wrenching moan. This was not a happy place.

“Room 309,” informed Stiles and began a brisk sprint further down the corridor. The door to room 309 looked identical to all the others and Scott was relieved to find that it was perfectly moan-free. He did pick up the steady thump of a heart. Greenberg might be whacked but at least he was a calm whacko.

Stiles swiped the card again and the door clicked open. Their eyes met for a brief second and Scott nodded. They had to find the underlying cause of this, and if that meant bothering a psychologically challenged former classmate, then so be it. The room was dimly lit and the blinds down. There were no furniture save from the bed in the center of the room. Scott could make out the shape of a man, his arms and feet secured by restraints.

“Who’s there?”

Stiles startled slightly, but remained silent. He met Scott’s eyes and they silently agreed to approach –  _slowly_. Greenberg was tossing and turning his head, trying fruitlessly to get a look at his visitors.

“Is that you, Nurse Betty? I really want to talk to the doctor in charge. I shouldn’t be here. I’m not insane despite how unbelievable it all sounds. And I don’t want any more medicine. It makes my stomach turn.”

“Sorry, not Betty,” said Stiles calmly and slowly inched into Greenberg’s line of sight. He looked confused; as if he was having difficulty, processing what was happening.

“Stilinski?” he asked incredulously. Well, Scott mused. At least he seemed to have his memories intact.

“Yeah, buddy, how’re you doing?”

Greenberg actually rolled his eyes exasperatedly. “What do you think, genius? I’m locked in here against my will, ritually drugged every third hour. I’m living the dream.”

Stiles glanced at Scott with an exaggerated grimace. “Okay,” he dragged out slowly, crossing his arms. “Nice to hear that a mental breakdown doesn’t impair your ability to be a mouthy SOB. There was a reason you always got into it with Coach.”

“Fuck you, Stilinski,” retorted Greenberg with a glower. “What are you doing here anyway? And is that you McCall lurking in the shadows? Figures, you two always did get into all kinds of trouble.”

Scott walked up to Stiles and gave Greenberg a small wave. He snorted and rolled his eyes. “Last I checked I was not considered an animal – and spare med the snarky comment I know your bursting with, Stiles.” He looked back at Scott, “So, why am I being visited by a vet-in-training and a – what are you studying again?”

Stiles shrugged his shoulders and smirked lopsidedly. “Oh a little of this, a little of that,” he said airily. “It’s not important anyway. What we want to know is more about the stuff that happened at your house.”

Greenberg craned his neck, presumably to get a better look at them, but didn’t have much luck with the restraints across his chest. He swore under his breath when his head slumped back onto the bed. Scott spotted at pillow under the gurney. A few seconds later he had with help from Stiles, propped Greenberg’s head up somewhat.

“Yes, that’s much better,” he sighed gratefully. He looked from Stiles to Scott and back again. His eyes roamed over the visible tattoos but he refrained from commenting.

“Frankly, I don’t know why you’re here or how you got in, but aside from Nurse Betty, a string of grumpy overlies and a brief visit from your dad there’s really no one interested in my story. A psychiatrist stuck his neck in just long enough for me to describe my dead mom wielding a knife and threatening my life, and next I know I have an unpronounceable diagnosis and a heavy medicine regiment. The American Mental Health system in practice, gentlemen. It leaves a lot to be desired, let me tell you.”

Stiles nodded sympathetically. Scott was surprised to see him handling the situation with far more patience than normal.

“I promise not to force-feed you pills,” said Stiles with a grin. “And if you tell us what happened I promise to talk to my dad about looking into this case again.”

Hope blossomed in his eyes and Scott dearly hoped Stiles would stick to his promise. Perhaps this would be the thing that would force them to finally put all cards on the table.

Scott had to admit he’d never spent all that much time with Greenberg outside of the locker room and the lacrosse field. For the most part he seemed to recall coach Finstock yelling at him on the field and ignoring him in the classroom. He had, in all honestly seemed like a total ass-licker, but listening to him recount the strange encounter with his dead mom in his own house, Scott had to admit his first impression had been shamefully wrong. Greenberg seemed levelheaded, observant and told the story, however traumatizing it must have been, in a concise and matter-of-fact manner.

“Wow,” said Scott in awe. “Did you really whack her over the head with your lacrosse stick?”

Greenberg nodded, looking slightly queasy. “Yeah, it was conveniently lying there and I just grabbed it and swung.” He shuddered. “The back of her head exploded into a spray of sluggish goo. I saw it hit the walls and then I just ran for it.”

Scott and Stiles exchanged looks and Greenberg eyed them suspiciously. “So,” he asked slowly. “Do you believe me?”

Stiles chewed his lower lip and looked to be mulling something over. “You know what, I think I do.”

Greenberg looked flabbergasted. “You, you do?” he stuttered, his eyes flickering from Stiles to Scott and back again. Stiles ignored the question.

“Did you notice anything strange about her eyes?”

“Her eyes?”

Stiles nodded furiously. “Yes, did they seem normal?”

Greenberg snorted unattractively. “Nothing about any of her seemed normal, dude.”

Stiles hummed in exasperation. “I get that, Sherlock,” he retorted with thinly veiled sarcasm. “Let me rephrase the question. Did her eyes have a pupil and eye whites and all that jazz, or,” he held up his arm to stop Greenberg from interrupting. “were they perhaps black – all black.”

Greenberg stopped, shut his mouth and looked like he was considering the question seriously. Scott was confused. “Black eyes?” he mouthed and Stiles nodded grimly. “I’ll explain afterwards.” He turned his attention back to Greenberg.

Scott had deliberately let Stiles take charge of talking to Greenberg while he kept a look and an ear out for signs of people coming their way. So far he’d only picked up on a few of the nearby patients and nothing from the corridor. When the door suddenly beeped open and a nurse backed into the room pulling a trolley of water, assorted cups of medicine and a tray of food, he was more than surprised. How on earth had he missed her?

Greenberg and Stiles froze midsentence. This had to be the stealthiest ninja nurse in history if she could sneak up on an alpha werewolf. She shuffled unsteadily backwards, and looked like she was wearing one of those old-fashioned nurse uniforms fully equipped with some sort of headscarf. Realizing they had nothing to lose and everything to gain Scott cleared his throat firmly and tried to put on his most solemn expression. He had no idea what exactly he was going to say other than to try his best to convince her he was a doctor and send her on her merry way.

She turned and Scott froze. A face in the early stages of decay stared soullessly back at him with black eyes. A wheezing sound escaped her and when she moved it was with surprising speed and agility. Whatever this was it was nothing like the zombies in The Walking Dead.

“Oh my god, it’s her!” screamed Greenberg and began trashing violently on the bed. He achieved nothing expect some painful flesh wounds were the restraints bore into his skin.

“Scott!” yelled Stiles desperately. He lunged for Greenberg’s gurney, unlocked the wheels and pushed it to the other end of the room. Greenberg screamed in terror. Scott felt the change wash over him effortlessly. It was still painful, but that was part of it, part of who he was. Claws out, teeth elongated Scott growled at the –  _zombie_? She ignored him completely and glided towards Greenberg, a large scalpel in her hand.

“Stop her,” yelled Stiles who dove towards Greenberg, and for a brief moment, it looked like he was hugging him. Scott leaped through the air to block her way. She swung the blade and it grazed his arm with a sting and a hiss. Laced with wolfsbane, he noted with a grimace. Whatever she was, she came prepared.

He threw himself at the wall using it to gain momentum and flipped over her, landing a kick to her hand in the process. The scalpel went flying, hit the wall at the opposite end, and clattered to the floor. Zombie-mom let out a guttural scream and threw herself with surprising strength at Scott. She was strong, there was no denying that, but the body was decaying and working against her. With a growl and a pull, Scott ripped her right arm clean off and watched in terror as she continued coming for him with undeterred force.

“What’re we going to do?” he yelled at Stiles who had somehow managed to relieve Greenberg of all the restraints.

“Block the door,” shouted Stiles and Scott did as requested. He watched in fascination as Stiles gestured for Greenberg to stay put. He looked from his zombie-mom to Scott and back again with pure panic radiating from his every cell. Stiles drew a deep breath, straightened his back and reached one hand towards the creature.

“ _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica. Ergo draco maledicte et omnis legio diabolica adjuramus te. Cessa decipere humanas creaturas, eisque aeternae Perditionis venenum propinare_ ”

Stiles was muttering strange words that meant absolutely nothing to Scott in a monotone and eerie manner. The room seemed to be vibrating and a wind started blowing out of nowhere. Zombie-mom stopped in her tracks and began writhing in inhuman movements, agony clearly wrecking the body.

« _Anade, Satana, inventor et magister omnis fallaciae, hostis humanae salutis._ _Humiliare sub potenti manu dei, contremisce et effuge, invocato a nobis scto et terribili nomine, quem inferi tremunt_.”

Suddenly what looked like black curling smoke began streaming out of her every orifice. Ears, eyes, mouth. Stiles intensified his words and picked up pace. The smoke grew larger and began twirling towards the ceiling. Stiles grit his teeth and his whole body was shaking, sweat running down his face. He looked like he was in pain, but continued chanting. The smoke unfurled completely from the body and it crumpled to the floor with a sickening crunch. The smoke sped towards Greenberg who screamed and tried to take cover under the gurney. Stiles was still chanting and the smoke seemed to be flickering, like it was hurting.

“It’s coming for me,” screamed Greenberg and threw himself to the floor. The smoke dived for him and for a few seconds he was engulfed in blackness. Scott ran to him but was thrown back by an invisible force. He glanced at the floor and saw a perfect line of mountain ash around Greenberg and Stiles. Scott could not get through. Not without considerable force anyway. The smoke was still circling Greenberg, Stiles was still muttering and then, with a deafening roar the smoke whirled into a small tornado and disappeared into the air duct.

The wind subsided immediately, the vibrations stopped and Stiles slumped to the floor in exhaustion. Greenberg lay whimpering on the floor. Stiles kicked out with his foot and broke the mountain ash circle.

“Sorry about that,” he mumbled feebly. Scott shook his head in a forget it sort of manner.

“So I’m guessing that was a demon.”

Stiles nodded tiredly. “That it was, and it got away. I wasn’t prepared and couldn’t trap it.”

Scott picked up footsteps coming their way. “I think we’ve caused a commotion,” he said urgently. “We need to get out of here.”

Stiles nodded. He rose to his feet and they hurried to the door. He paused shortly, turning towards a shaking Greenberg.

“Greenberg, can I trust you not to say anything about what you just saw? It will only make matters worse for you, but I promise we’ll get you out of here as soon as possible.”

Greenberg nodded furiously. They bolted from the room and managed to escape from the ward just in time before an army of overlies thundered down the corridor. Scott hated to think what the sheriff would think of the remains in the room, and what surprises he might find on the surveillance cameras. It probably didn’t matter anyway. He had a feeling things would blow up in a big way before long.

He wasn’t wrong. 


	18. Sheriff Stilinski

There was a slight chill in the air. John was glad he had the presence of mind to bring his jacket and yet he still suffered from shivers. He wasn’t entirely sure it was just because of the temperature. Something else seemed to hang in the air as well. Something sinister.

He shook his head, silently berating his own mind. The only sinister thing out here was his abysmal fitness. He was out of breath and anything but proud. His daily donut had to go, that much was certain.

Without a trail, it was slow going trekking through the Preserve. The ground was uneven and the tree growth dense. It only got worse the deeper he ventured. He swore softly under his breath when he skidded down a steep cliff and took a slight tumble near the end. Still, he dusted off and continued walking.

His run-in with Lydia Martin earlier that day had left him uneasy and frustrated in equal measures. Uneasy because she’d made him doubt his own investigation and the sanity of this case, and frustrated because she’d made him doubt his relationship with Stiles.

As soon as he’d gotten back to his squad car he’d tried to call Stiles on the last known number he had, but a staccato and tinny voice on the other end informed him that the number was out of service. John had promptly checked his e-mail in hope of a sign of life from his son, but the last communication was still a couple of weeks old and held no clues to where he might be now. It hurt more than he was willing to let on to learn that Lydia was in constant contact with Stiles. The way she talked it was almost as if he’d sent her to the cemetery on a mission, and that would imply that he had more than a passing knowledge of the case. With him far off in the wilderness somewhere in Asia that would suggest that someone else – someone closer to Beacon Hills than Lydia, was also in contact with him. It didn’t take much for the sheriff to narrow down to a single suspect.

Scott.

He’d been sorely tempted to confront him when he showed up at the sheriff station asking for Allison. Yet, something had stopped him.

Probably my pride, mumbled John, kicking a rock.  It was hard enough acknowledging you’d lost touch with your only child. It was a whole other matter to admit it openly. There was however, no denying the evidence suggesting Stiles and his friends had fallen back into old habits of meddling in his cases. It was bad enough with Allison tied up with the FBI, Scott clearly knowing more than he let on and Lydia doing field research on ritualistic symbols. It downright scared him to realize that Stiles seemed to be the one pulling their strings, even from afar.

Sadly, John could little do about the deteriorating relationship with his son at the present time. What he could do however was to broaden his mind just a smidge and look a bit closer at the symbols found in the cemetery. He’d snapped a few photos for later scrutiny. When he got back, he persuaded one of his deputies who were light-years ahead of him where technology was concerned, to plot in the coordinates for where Derek had found all the missing organs and bodies into this handy little GPS-thingy. All John had to do was walk towards the red blinking dot.

That was well and good in theory. In reality the red dot was smack in the middle of nowhere with no trails to follow. Hence, his off-piste ministrations.

A few more minutes of stumbling and a near fall, and Sheriff Stilinski knew he was getting close. The red dot on the GPS was blinking furiously, but he would’ve known he was nearby regardless. A heavy stench of decay still hung in the air causing his insides to churn unpleasantly. He pocketed the GPS and meandered into the clearing. The remains were long gone, but still it smelled like death and a chill ran down his spine.

As he drew nearer to the huge cut down tree, something slotted into place. He’d been here before!  

And by before he meant before the events of this week. John approached the enormous trunk cautiously. It was curious to see small branches spouting out in all directions, like it’d just been awoken after a long slumber and was stretching its limbs towards the sky. John walked around it slowly, keeping his eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary. He’d half expected to find similar symbols here, but after completing a full circle he had no such luck.

The sheriff reached inside his jacket and pulled out a small pile of photos. He quickly flipped to the crime scene shots and studied them carefully in case there might be something he was missing. The photos were gut churning to say the least, depicting the array of organs spread out on top of the trunk in all their hideous glory. There was even a photo taken after the organs were removed, and it still looked disgusting.

Now however, just a few days later, the trunk was as clean as a trunk could be. The sheriff scratched his chin in wonder. Either someone had done a very good job of scrubbing it clean, (and honestly, who did that to a tree trunk?) or the old tree seemed to have consumed it all. It was an absurd notion. But then again – this whole case was absurd.

He pulled out a small notepad and quickly scribbled down a note to ask Deaton if animals could’ve cleaned out all the blood. It seemed like the most likely explanation after all. Dr. Deaton would probably pin it on the mountain lions again, but he had to cover his bases.  The mountain lions of Beacon Hills sure were something else, he noted with a mental eye roll.

John felt relieved. There was nothing out of the ordinary here, which meant he was saved from considering anything beyond the normal realm of things could be the cause of this mess. Things were complicated enough as they were, thank you very much.

God, the stench was horrid! John could not wait to get away from it, and idly wondered if he should have the uniform dry-cleaned or simply burn it for god measure.

Wait…

The Sheriff paused and strained his ears. He thought he heard voices.

For a few seconds he listened carefully but could only hear rustling leaves and the faint sound of birds chirping. His ears were clearly playing tricks on him. Or, he was getting paranoid on his old days. It wouldn’t surprise him.

He’d barely taken a few steps before he heard it again. This time there was no doubt about it. Someone, or rather several someones were approaching.

Instinct told him to hide. If this were the perpetrators, he’d much rather observe them undetected first. Criminals had a nasty habit of clamming up the moment of their arrest. It wouldn’t hurt to get something more concrete first.

He ran as silently as possible to the nearest cluster of greenery and dived behind them. Even though he was a good distance from the offer site it still smelled like death warmed over, and he had to concentrate not to gag.

The voices grew louder and it became apparent that it was at least two people, one man and a woman by the sound of it. He peered through the branches hoping to get a good glimpse. The wind had picked up making leaves and small branches whip around and scratch at his face.

An agonizing minute later, the two came into view. John’s heart skipped a beat when he took in the sight of Derek Hale and Lydia Martin walking calmly into the clearing. Derek was wearing his old well-worn leather jacket and a matching broody expression. Lydia had exchanged the heels and skirt he’d seen her wear earlier with a smart pair of tights and what looked like brand new Nikes. Unsurprisingly she seemed to be carrying the conversation on her own with occasional grunts from Derek.

When they drew closer to the tree trunk, John could make out what they were saying. For a split second he considered stepping out and letting them know he was there, but something held him back.

Lydia had stopped an arm’s length from the tree trunk and was staring at it with an unreadable expression. Derek seemed to be keeping his distance, but his eyes never left her. Suddenly Lydia began swaying slightly on the spot before small shivers seemed to travel through her body. The shivers stopped as abruptly as they started. Derek was quick to offer a helping hand when she stumbled slightly.

“Anything?” he asked intently and Lydia shuddered.

“Have I ever told you how utterly I despise this place?” she asked poisonously and Derek snorted.

“On numerous occasions,” he replied drily. “You’ve been quite vocal about it.”

Lydia tossed her hair and crossed her arms. “As I should be,” she replied bitingly. “If you felt like you were standing in the middle of a graveyard with all graves dug up and on display every time you set foot here, then I’d say you were perfectly justified. And besides,” she continued as she slowly began to circle the tree trunk, “it’s changed. It feels even darker now. It’s actually physically painful to get close to it.”

She took a tentative step towards the former tree, but stepped back a moment later as if she’d been burned.

“There’s definitely magic involved here,” she said with an air of perfect seriousness.

Sheriff Stilinski groaned silently. That was a new one –  _magic_. Why hadn’t he thought about that before?

“Dark?” asked Derek in a perfectly normal tone of voice. Like the notion of magic, and dark magic to boot, wasn’t totally insane.

“Oh yes, definitely dark. It feels like the Nemeton is getting stronger. I get an almost pulsating sensation here. It’s hard to explain.”

Lydia had completed the circle. For a while, they just stood there silently. John was starting to get a cramp, his pants soaked with muddy water. The uniform definitely needed to be burned.

Derek tilted his head slightly and sniffed the air. Lydia startled. “Do you smell anything?” Derek chuckled darkly.

“Don’t you?”

Lydia rolled her eyes exaggeratedly. “Very funny, sourwolf. Of course, I smell the foul stench. You poor thing, it must be extra tortuous for you.”

“I’ve smelled worse,” said Derek solemnly. Lydia smiled sadly.

“Yes, I suppose you have. Is there something out there?”

Derek shrugged. “I thought I picked up a whiff but it was just for a split second and then it was lost in the smell of decay. Probably just a mountain lion.”

Lydia barked out a short laugh. Derek stuffed his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket and stared grumpily at the remains of the cut down tree.

“Are you sure the symbols will work?” he asked after a while. Lydia was apparently checking her phone for messages. “Still no word from Danny,” she muttered. “And yes, I’m sure. He assured me the worst that can happen is nothing. We cannot actually do any harm by putting them up, but if it works then we should put a stop to these incidents.”

Derek furrowed his eyebrows. “Still, that’s just half the solution and you know it. We might stop whatever endgame they had planned, but they’d still be out there. And what have we learned about ignoring lose ends?”

Lydia stared at him long-sufferingly. “What is this – Life lessons with Derek Hale? You really should’ve started teaching us these back when you were the alpha.”

 

Derek shrugged, a half smile tugging at his lips. Cramps and foul-smelling garments were now the least of John’s problems. _Alphas_?  _Magic_? What on earth was a  _Nemeton_?

“I’m perfectly happy letting Scott do all the alphaing,” said Derek matter-of-factly. “And you know as well as I do that bad guys tend to stay bad even if we give them second and third chances to change. We learned that the hard way with Deucalion.”

Lydia shuddered. “Don’t remind me. Yes, I know you’re right. But one problem at a time, okay?”

“Sure, whatever.”

“We should get started on the symbols as soon as Cora and Isaac get here. It shouldn’t take them too long to mix it up. Cora assured me they had everything they needed at the herb shop and I’ve generously donated a pint of my O negative blood to the cause.”

Derek squirmed. “I hate waiting. We should’ve come with the others, we’re no use you hanging around here.”

Lydia shook her head long-sufferingly. “We could’ve done that, but you’d be just as impatient and end up being more of a distraction than actually helpful. Besides, I wanted to get a feel of this place for myself. I usually sense disruptions and changes through my link as anchor, but the distance makes it weaker. But now I’m sure.”

Derek shrugged in a dejected manner but didn’t argue. Lydia cocked her head and regarded him carefully. Derek glared. “What?” he barked. John watched Lydia smirk almost evilly.

“Oh, I was just wondering why you still look like someone’s stolen you favorite teddy bear. I wouldn’t be surprised to see actual thunder clouds over your head with the mood you’re in. Aren’t you relieved to know that he isn’t possessed?”

John almost fell over and had to grab hold of a branch to avoid toppling over.  _Possession_? What was this –  _The Exorcist?_

Derek scowled in his general direction, scrunched his nose and went back to glowering at Lydia. She seemed perfectly unaffected.

“Scott said he actually exorcised the demon at the hospital. He wouldn’t do that if he was possessed himself. Why spoil your own plan?”

“Of course I’m relieved,” spat Derek impatiently glancing at his watch. “Still doesn’t change the fact that there’s something wrong with him.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “You’re still on about that? I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for his altered heartbeat. Frankly I’m more astounded by the fact that you’re that attuned to the beat of his heart in the first place that you’d immediately spot the difference – after several months of separation I might add.”

She was smiling at him innocently, but the arch of her eyebrows and the glint in her eyes was anything but. Derek growled and turned around. Lydia laughed. “Fine, be that way. I will get to the bottom of it eventually. I’m tempted to quote that old saying about a famed Egyptian river.”

Derek just continued glaring. Sheriff Stilinski had heard quite enough. Possession, magic and demons? Either the world was going to shits or his son’s gang of misfit friends was totally out of their minds. What kind of mind-melting drugs were they on?

“Oh dear, I wish they’d hurry,” muttered Lydia and buried her nose in the crook of her elbow. “The smell is ghastly.”

“Imagine how I’m feeling,” said Derek. “It’s messing up my senses. I actually feel handicapped.”

“Just what I was banking on.”

John had been so focused on the strange conversation between Lydia and Derek he’d failed to notice anyone approaching. He was not the only one.

“ _You_ ,” growled Derek and this time it really was a growl. Almost like a feral animal. John thought he saw his eyes flash bright blue, but then he blinked and it was gone. Derek’s stance has shifted to that of an animal ready to pounce and John soon discovered why. Alan Deaton was standing behind Lydia a gun pointed to her head. The gun didn’t seem to faze Derek in the least and before the sheriff had the presence of mind to call out a warning, he’d leapt forward, attacking.

He didn’t get far.

Deaton waved his free arm in an elaborate circle and a cloud of dust whirled around and then magically (there was no other word for it) fell down in a perfect circle on the ground, trapping Derek inside. Derek roared and his eyes flashed blue again. He heard Deaton chuckle lazily and it chilled him to the bone. Then he got another look at Derek and yelped.

His face had morphed into that of a monster with fangs and snarling jaw. He threw himself towards Deaton, but the circle kept him trapped. He fell down with a howl. Deaton shifted his stance and gestured for Lydia to move. The entire time a small smile was playing on his lips.

“Now, now Derek, you better behave. You know perfectly well that there is no escaping a circle of mountain ash laid out by someone who’s got the right spark. You can’t touch it, ergo you can’t break it. Only a true alpha could manage that, and we both know you never even came close.”

Derek snarled menacingly, his eyes never leaving Deaton who was backing towards a nearby tree pulling Lydia with him.

“You can come out of your hiding place, Sheriff Stilinski,” he said pleasantly as he smoothly fished a pair of handcuffs out of his jacket pocket. Lydia whimpered and Derek looked genuinely startled. Deaton snickered. John had never before heard him snicker. It was not a pleasant experience.

With a gun in play, there was little he could but to obey. He stumbled into the clearing, his legs wobbly from pins and needles. John might be a sheriff in a small town but he knew how to approach someone wielding a gun. It involved calm and slow motions, and not the spastic heroics from movies and TV shows.

“I see the odor of the deceased has served its purpose. You will not see it, but there’re more buried by the Nemeton and the smell is quite overpowering, especially for the sensitive nose of lycanthropes. Oh, and please drop your gun on the ground, will you, Sheriff?”

John grimaced but saw no other option. He gently removed it from the holster and lowered it onto the mossy ground. Derek lunged at the invisible barrier again but was again thrown off with considerable force. Deaton tsked while gesturing for John to come closer.

“I suppose it is true that you can’t learn old dogs new tricks,” he said silkily as he snapped the handcuffs on Lydia’s wrist and the other on the sheriff. He fished out a second pair and repeated the process so that they stood trapped and linked together around one of the trees, their faces turned out. It tugged uncomfortable on John’s old shoulder wound. Lydia was whimpering quietly but was holding up remarkably well all things considering.

 

John stared incredulously at Derek Hale. He’d seen a whole lot of crazy disfigurations in his time in law enforcement, but never anything like this. His whole face had morphed into something almost animalistic. There was something distinctly canine about the features, including some impressive fangs and – dear god was that  _claws_?

Deaton still looked as calm as a mild summer wind. He turned his attention from Derek to his other prisoners and smiled softly.

“Ah, my dear Sheriff,” he said with a smile that produced chills down John’s spine. “Judging by your facial expression I’m guessing this is you first glimpse of one of Beacon Hills’ many secrets.” He gestured smoothly at Derek who seemed to have realized his options were limited. “Are you well versed in Lycanthropy, Sheriff?”

“Lycan- _what_?” asked John confused.

“Lycantrophy, or the lore of werewolves if you will. Derek here comes from a long line of werewolves. The Hales were one of the more prominent packs in this country before the unfortunate fire a few years back.”

“And you were their emissary,” croaked Lydia. “A fat lot of good you’ve done in the years since. Your job was to guide and support the wolves, not ignore and shower them with cryptic riddles.”

Deaton glided up to Lydia and cocked his head. He laid a gloved hand on her cheek and she glared at him defiantly.

“I was  _Talia Hale_ ’s emissary, my dear. Not Derek’s. Derek was never supposed to be an alpha and he possesses precious few of the traits and talents needed to lead. As we’ve all bore witness to.”

“Maybe so,” spat Lydia lividly, “but I never understood why you chose to just stand on the sidelines and watch him fail miserably. And furthermore if you’d helped him then maybe I wouldn’t have been traumatized and exploited by Peter Hale to resurrect his sorry ass.”

Deaton was smiling openly now. John couldn’t follow half of what they were talking about, but clearly Deaton had been in a position to help but had failed to do so.

“My dear Lydia, you have much to be thankful for, especially Peter. If it weren’t for him your Banshee powers might still been dormant.”

“I would gladly sacrificed my powers to avoid the entire trauma and if it’d helped Derek. Boyd and Erica might still be with us, and that whole mess with the Darach might’ve been avoided all together.”

“Yes,” said Deaton, “but that would’ve been very counterproductive for my plan. You see I’ve been planning this for years. Time and time again my efforts have been thwarted, but now the goal is finally within reach. I just need for the final pieces to fall into place, and unfortunately for you Lydia, you’ve served your purpose and are therefore entirely expendable.”

He pointed the gun at Lydia and Derek immediately went berserk inside the mountain ash circle, but to no avail. Lydia whimpered softly and seemed to shrink in on herself. The Sheriff did his level best to shield her with his body, but the handcuffs made it impossible to move much at all. He heard Deaton cock the gun and the air seemed to vibrate with fear. He closed his eyes and squeezed Lydia’s hand. Her palm was sweaty.

Something whizzed through the air and the next moment Deaton let out a small yelp.

“ _Don’t you dare try to kill my best friend_!”

John craned his neck and watched in awe as the impressive figure of Allison Argent emerged from the tree line, a crossbow in her arms.

“Drop your gun, Deaton,” she demanded with a voice of ice. Deaton was still pointing his gun at Lydia even though an arrow protruded from his other shoulder. He grimaced but showed no signs of letting go. As she came closer, Allison met John’s eyes briefly. She nodded slightly and then continued to approach Deaton. He was smiling serenely.

“I said drop it,” she repeated. “You know I never miss my target, and next time I’ll aim for somewhere lethal. And I think you know who will win if it came down to a match of speed and precision.”

Deaton stared at her calculatingly for a moment and then slowly lowered his gun. Allison moved to get it.

“Just a minute,” he said calmly.

“I don’t have a  _minute_ ,” replied Allison tersely. “I want you to surrender and release Lydia and Sheriff Stilinski _immediately_.”

Deaton frowned. “That might be difficult.”

Allison snorted. “No, it’s perfectly simple. Either you release them or I impale you with this military grade arrow.”

“I think that would be a grave mistake,” replied Deaton with a raised eyebrow. He nodded calmly at something behind them, and John followed his line of sight.

What the hell?

“Dad?”

Allison’s voice cracked slightly as she laid eyes on her father walking calmly into the clearing with Melissa McCall at gunpoint. John cried out in outrage, but Melissa just shook her head and pleaded with her eyes to be quiet. She didn’t seem the slightest surprised to see Derek’s monstrous face imprisoned within a line of black powder and several pieces fell into place.

She’d known. Of course she had.

That explained so many of their somewhat awkward conversations. If Derek, Lydia and Allison was involved, then clearly so was Scott.

And Stiles.

John’s heart clenched painfully. Years of unexplained events, unconvincing lies and half-truths all slotted into place. Stiles and Scott showing up on multiple crime scenes, the unexplained bruises, the late nights, restraining orders and theft. It was all connected to this. This – it hurt his logical brain just to think it –  _supernatural_  business that was obviously happening under his very nose.

“Dad?” cried Allison again, this time more desperately. “What are you doing, dad? Why are you helping him? Dad! Dad!”

Chris started unblinkingly at his daughter, almost as if he was in some kind of trance. Could he be hypnotized John wondered, or whammied by some sort of magic? He wouldn’t put anything passed anyone at this point.

“Dad! We have a code!” Her frustration was getting frantic. “Dad, you can’t do this. I’m in charge remember? I call the shots, not you. The women lead, so listen to me. Deaton is out of his freaking mind!”

Deaton chuckled evilly. Yes, his air of perfect solemnness was slipping by the minute. Allison looked torn between wanting to run to her dad and protect Lydia. It was an impossible situation and John felt for the girl.

“He won’t respond to you, dear,” informed Deaton with a grin. “He can hear you perfectly well, but unfortunately Chris Argent is not in control of his body at the moment.”

John watched in horror as Chris’ eyes blinked and when they opened pitch black orbs stared unseeing back. “He’s possessed,” whispered Lydia. “Allison, he’s not in control.”

“That’s right. He’s under my control now, and I’d take care to do as I say and I might find it in my heart to let him live. Actually, if all goes according to plan, I’ll let all the parents go. They are after all just pawns and not of importance to me. They are however important to _you_ , and that is why I’ve brought them here.”

He walked up to the tree trunk and caressed it lovingly. Allison shuddered.

“Can you feel it, Allison? It’s almost vibrating with power ready to be used as a portal that will bring an array of demonic forces to the earth’s surface. Far too long, they’ve been trapped. I can feel them on the other side, longing for freedom. And you’re going to help release them.”

Allison stared at him in horror. She shook her head slowly and glanced at Lydia. She was biting her bottom lip and trembling from head to toe.

“You’re out of your mind,” she hissed through clenched lips. Deaton shook his head pleasantly.

“Oh, quite the opposite in fact. I’m actually in this poor veterinarian’s mind, and I’ve been so for many years. Or rather his body, but I guess that’s just semantics. Soon I’ll be able to break free of this confining shell and roam with my kind.

Lydia gasped. “You’re a demon, too? You’ve possess him, haven’t you?” Deaton smiled benignly with a slight nod.

“How long?”

He shrugged his shoulders and continued to pet the tree. “Since the Hale fire. Poor Alan was in a particularly vulnerable state of mind at the time, and possessing him proved ridiculously easy. Enough chit chat. The Nemeton has been strengthened through a series of ritual offerings. The next step is crucial – its guardians need to lay down their lives at its roots.”

Lydia gasped and Derek roared. Melissa actually whimpered and her face fell into that of horror. Once again, John felt painfully out of touch. Who were these guardians?

Deaton chuckled. “It’s quite fitting don’t you think, that once again I’ve lured you here using your parents as bait. To save them all you have to do is die. But then again – you’ve all done that before anyway. This time however your deaths need to be permanent.”

Melissa was openly crying now, and John felt anger well up inside. This whole villainous monologue was getting ridiculous. How could someone die _again_? His confusion was clearly showing. Deaton grinned maliciously.

“I see that our trusted Sheriff is a bit confused,” he droned with thinly veiled sarcasm. “Not surprising really, when he has no recollection of the events we’re referring to.”

He walked up to them and patted John condescendingly on his cheek. The Sheriff tried and failed to suppress a cringe, something the veterinarian seemed bring him some amount of amusement.

“Let me give you the cliff notes now, and perhaps Miss Martin can fill in the blanks later. If she lives to tell the tale that is. The guardians won’t be alive to I’m afraid.”

He slithered over to Lydia who was fighting back tears all the while looking fit to murder. Deaton patted her hair and she spat on him. He ignored her and droned on.

“Basically I had Jennifer Blake kidnap you three.” He pointed at John, Melissa and Chris in turn. “She actually brought you here to the Nemeton. There is a root cellar underneath it and it was the perfect hiding place. Spilling blood at its roots helps bring it back to life and turns it into a beacon for the supernatural. I knew that your kids would do anything to save you. I was not disappointed. They died for you, did you know that?”

Melissa closed her eyes and shook her head. Silent tears were running down her cheeks. John couldn’t make sense of anything, and didn’t think Deaton would care to explain it either. The whole thing sounded absurd – absurd beyond magic even. Surely they hadn’t died? You couldn’t just die, for a little while. Could you?

Allison still had her crossbow pointed at Deaton but he was paying it no mind.

“Dad,” she pleaded her voice breaking but Chris Argent showed no sign of recognizing his daughter. Deaton laughed. Allison snarled. “You won’t get away with this,” she spat. “We’re the guardians of the Nemeton. We’re in charge of it, not you. We’ve learned to master the darkness and how keep it at bay. Don’t think for a second we will just roll over and die.”

Deaton nodded slightly. “Yes, I have to give you credit. I’d never thought you’d do as well as you have. Though it was touch and go there for a while, especially for young Stilinski.”

This caught the sheriff’s attention. Stiles was a guardian? Stiles had – _died_? Deaton wanted to kill him again. How could that be, when he was on the other side of the world?

“We came out of that initial phase stronger and more attuned to each other,” said Allison proudly. “We won’t break again.”

Deaton regarded her calmly. “But my dear Allison. Don’t you see? I’ve been corrupting the Nemeton for weeks now, laying down sacrifices and offers that strengthen its powers. Can’t you feel it? It’s almost vibrating with dark energy just longing to burst free. The pull on your darkness will be so much stronger. You will succumb. There is no doubt about that. Especially without anchors to ground you.”

Lydia let out an outraged snort that drew all their attention. She looked highly affronted.

“What do you mean without anchors? I understand that Scott might be more vulnerable since you’re an evil bastard and not the surrogate father figure you’ve always pretended to be, but Allison still got Isaac and Stiles has me. Are you planning on killing us both as well?”

Deaton tilted his head. “I could of course do that, but it would achieve very little. The Nemeton does not need further strengthening. It is already plenty strong to achieve my goal. Besides, you might be anchors, but you’re not the  _right_  anchors. You never were. I saw to that. I knew this day might come when I needed them to be sacrifices and with weaker anchors their will to resist would be at a greater disadvantage.”

Lydia spluttered and Allison looked slightly ill. “What do you mean I’m not the right one?” she asked indignantly. “There was no one more suited than me in that room and you know it. I might have served Allison better at the time, that is true, but I’ve grown to love Stiles like the brother I never had. I would lay down my life for him in heartbeat.”

Deaton’s eyes flashed black for a split second and the Sheriff couldn’t help the shiver than ran down his spine. It was contrasted by the warmth that spread through his body at Lydia’s profession of love for his son. He had no idea their bond ran that deep. But then again, what had he known in the grand scheme of things?

“Yes, I believe you would, and that is quite admirable I must say. I believe he would do the same. However, and I suspect you might not know this, it wasn’t your influence that pulled him out of his decent to madness those years ago.” He smirked calculatingly. “If it had just come down to you, our dear Stiles would surly have succumbed to the darkness of the Nemeton by now. A pity really, I would’ve liked to have him under my thumb, but that is water under the bridge now.”

This seemed to genuinely surprise, Lydia if the small intake of breath he heard was anything to go by. It was clear she was about to launch into a series of questions when the air was penetrated by a soul-shattering howl. John braced himself for yet another monster, and was surprised when Melissa cried out in obvious relief.

 

Something somersaulted into the clearing trailed by a shower of dirt and branches. When the dust settled he saw yet another werewolf (it was slightly disconcerting how quickly he was adapting to this new realm of supernatural creatures) crouched and ready to attack. The wolf roared again, throwing his head back baring razor sharp teeth and the sheriff felt his whole worldview shift –  _again_.

His features were distorted still he easily recognized Scott. Kind, mild-mannered Scott who’d (as far as he knew) never hurt anyone in his life if he could help it – was in fact a lethal killing machine, fangs and claws included.

“Scott, how nice of you to join us.” Deaton smiled his creepy half smile and Scott growled. It made all the hairs on John’s body stand on end. Scott didn’t answer. Instead, he kept perfectly still, just watching Deaton like a predator preparing for the kill. Intimidating, as it was it didn’t seem to faze the vet in the slightest. He simply stared back unblinkingly.

It all happened so fast John hardly had time to react. Scott lunged at Deaton claws out, but Deaton’s reaction was remarkably fast. Once again, he threw his arm in the air and a spray of black powder fell in a perfect circle around him. Scott hit the invisible barrier and was thrown back much like Derek had. Deaton’s lips curled spitefully. Derek roared in what the Sheriff assumed was sympathy. Scott got to his feet and prowled towards the circle, a determined look on his face. Deaton laughed quietly.

“I know you can break it. But it takes a great deal of effort and energy. It will drain you, Scott, and while you’re busy clawing your way through mountain ash, my fellow demon, Natos over there will have ample time to dispose of your mother. Hardly worth it, I would say.”

Scott tilted his head slightly and regarded Deaton with surprising calm. He approached the barrier slowly, all the while never breaking eye contact with the veterinarian.

“You’re forgetting something,” said Scott quietly, raising a hand palm out. Deaton arched an eyebrow.

“Really? What then?”

Scott grinned and it was a terrifying sight. His wolf face and fangs made him look positively feral. “Practice makes perfect,” he replied evenly.

Before Deaton had time to as much as blink, Scott pushed his hand forward and it went through the barrier like it was made of butter. His other hand quickly followed and next he simply stepped through it. It shattered soundlessly. Deaton raised his hands in mock surrender when Scott stalked towards him.

“Bravo, Scott. Impressive, truly it was. However, your mother is still in peril and if you as much as crease my jacket, Natos over there will snap her neck like a twig. Why fight the inevitable? Surrender now, Scott and spare the lives of your friends.”

Scott didn’t deign to reply. He sniffed the air and nodded almost invisibly towards Lydia. Deaton arched an eyebrow.

“Oh, is the pack planning something? I think I need to put a stop to that.” Deaton threw his head back and a cloud of black smoke spilled from his throat. Both Lydia and Allison screamed and Derek threw himself against the barrier again.

“Scott!” cried Allison and ran towards him but a strangled cry from Melissa stopped her. The possessed Chris had lifted her clean of the ground and her face was rapidly turning beet red as she struggled for air. Allison stopped dead in her tracks. Melissa gasped and coughed as Chris released the chokehold.

“Scott!” screamed Lydia and struggled futilely against the handcuffs. “Fight it! You can do it!”

For a moment the Sheriff didn’t understand what she meant, but then the black smoke left Deaton who crumpled to the ground with a sickening crunch. It whirled around the Nemeton before engulfing Scott. A roar was heard within the tornado of blackness.

“Fight it!”

“Scott!”

“Don’t let him in!”

Lydia, Derek and Allison all screamed encouragements and soon John found himself yelling along with them. The struggle seemed to drag on forever but then, with a stomach-churning shriek, the smoke was gone and Scott lay sprawled on the mossy forest floor. Lydia whimpered as Allison carefully approached him. She kneeled down and laid a tentative hand on his shoulder. Scott moaned almost inaudibly and Melissa gasped with relief.

“Scott?”

“I’m alright,” murmured Scott hoarsely and slowly got to his feet helped by Allison. His face was back to normal, the Sheriff noticed.

“Did you manage to fight it off?” asked Allison softly and Scott nodded. “Oh thank god. Now we only have to worry about this other clown,” she gestured to his father. “I want him out of my dad immediately!”

Just when Sheriff Stilinski didn’t think this whole scene couldn’t possibly become any more surreal, it did exactly that.

“We have company,” said demon Chris in an unnervingly flat voice. And yes. Would you look at that? John couldn’t help but roll his eyes. What they probably needed, was a thrifty warlock or maybe even a vampire overlord to help save the day. What did they get? Frickin’ FBI.

The two FBI agents stepped into the clearing looking terrifyingly determined and not at all surprised to find a werewolf and a demon in the mix. The scruffy one was sporting a sawed off rifle and the tall one was brandishing a weird looking knife with a jagged edge and carrying what looked like a tank of water on his back with a nozzle in his other hand.

“Alright,” said the one with the rifle (agent Wesson? The sheriff couldn’t remember). “It’s time for all the demons to get the hell back to hell. Literally. So, who wants to go first?”

He leveled the rifle at Chris who only smirked and began choking Melissa again. “Please refrain from hurting the humans,” said the agent dryly. “We can start with the other one, no problem. Sam, you ready?”

“Yep,” said the tall one confidently.

“The other one got away,” said Allison hurriedly, still supporting Scott. “He left that guy and tried to possess Scott, but he couldn’t. I guess it’s harder to gain access to Alphas.”

“Oh honey,” said the agent sarcastically. “He’s not gone. Not at all. Now Sam!”

A spray of water hit Scott straight in the face and he immediately let out an agonizing howl.

“What are you doing?” shrieked Allison aghast, but Sam continued hosing him down.

“Look,” yelled the scruffy agent impatiently. “Your werewolf boyfriend here, and seriously you need to reevaluate your life choices girl, is indeed possessed. Just look.”

He gestured to Scott who was writhing in pain clutching at his face. Allison grabbed his hands and pulled them off, then reared back at the sight of him. His face was covered in angry blisters and the eyes, usually a vivid brown or alpha red, stared back as black, bottomless orbs.

“I had you for a moment there, sweet Allison,” said the demon in Scott’s voice but the tone was all Deaton. Allison let go as if slapped, and began to back away. Scott laughed mirthlessly and grabbed her arm.

“Dean, get the girl,” yelled the other agent just as Allison was yanked to the ground. Scott rolled his neck with a sickening crunch and the change washed over him. Once again he was sporting fangs and claws, but gone where the red alpha eyes. Instead, pitch black orbs stared unblinkingly down on Allison.

“This girl is an important part of my ascension to power over the earthbound demons that will be freed and I refuse to be thwarted by a duo of half incompetent hunters.”

He raised his arm in the direction of the agent called Dean who was immediately pushed into the nearest tree through invisible force. His feet kicked out searching for solid ground, clutching his throat desperate for air. The other agent roared angrily but Scott turned his head, shaking it.

“Approach me and your brother dies, Sam Winchester. I will not hesitate to kill him, not for a second. You I still consider kin and will spare you if you behave.”

Sam scoffed openly and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sure,” he said with heavy sarcasm reminding John fleetingly of Stiles. “Like I’ll believe anything coming from the mouth of a lowly demon. If there’s one thing I’ve learned it is that demons lie – all the freaking time.”

He kept walking towards Scott, the weird looking knife still in his hand. “You see, I’ve met far more powerful demons in my time. You’re holding down the Argent girl as well as keeping Dean immobilized. If you want to stop me, you have to let one of them go. And I have a strong feeling no matter who you release it will be painful for you.”

Scott’s eyes returned to normal for a split second and Allison gasped. “Scott, Scott! Are you in there? Fight him, Scott!” Sam looked conflicted but shook his head sadly. “We don’t have time, Allison,” he said in a strained voice. Allison cried out and Sam lifted the knife, ready to strike. Scott reared back but didn’t break the hold on any of his captors.

“Don’t!” shrieked Allison. “It will kill him!”

Sam looked positively gut wrecked but continued unwaveringly. “It’s the only way. Sometimes we have to make sacrifices to save people.”

The sheriff found himself yelling along with Allison as it dawned on him that the agent intended to kill Scott to get to the demon. Melissa was sobbing uncontrollably, Derek was growling and throwing himself at the barrier and Lydia was hurling obscenities that would make seasoned sailors balk. Yet Sam kept going. In all the commotion, no one had noticed that their numbers had increased by one.

“DON'T YOU DARE!”

Sam Winchester stopped dead in his tracks when a figure appeared right in front of him. Sheriff Stilinski let out a startled yelp and strained at his handcuffs to get a better look. He knew that voice!

Lydia whimpered and slumped in relief. The agent looked confused and Allison actually laughed. Demon Scott chuckled and cocked his head. The newly arrived turned to face him and John’s suspicion was confirmed.

It was Stiles.

_How_ was he here? _Why_ was he here? What on earth had happened to his somewhat scrawny looking kid? This Stiles was more built, his hair longer – and good god – were those tattoos? The Sheriff swore internally, and wowed to have a lengthy talk about defiling one’s body in such a potentially harmful way. First, they had to survive this shit storm. The odds were not good.

Scott’s demon smirked, making him look slightly deranged. Stiles simply glared.

“Ah, finally. So nice of you to grace us with your presence, young Stilinski. I knew you arrived in town with Miss Argent and it was only a matter of time before you showed yourself. You’ve always had a tendency to throw yourself into danger even if you lack both physical strength and combat knowledge.”

He clucked his tongue and regarded him with a calculating glint to his eyes. Stiles still hadn’t said a word. John was amazed. He knew his kid and he always ran his mouth. The more nervous he got the more words he would spew. This did not compute with the person standing before them. Stiles simply cocked his head, raised an eyebrow mockingly as if daring the demon to make the first move.

“No comment, huh? How unlike you. Oh well, let’s get this show on the road, shall we?”

Demon Scott yanked Allison to her feet, holding her in a chokehold. With a whip of his wrist, the agent called Dean was knocked hard against the tree and fell to the ground with a thud. His partner roared and lunged for Scott, the knife held high, but Scott waved his now free arm in his direction and sent him flying into another tree. The knife fell to the ground with a muffled clank.

“All three guardians are at my mercy,” said Scott silkily.

Stiles arched an eyebrow and shrugged. “Planned this a long time, have you?” he asked casually.

Demon Scott smirked. “That is the understatement of the century.” He waved his hand around eliciting gagging noises from agent Sam who was struggling for breath. “As a matter of fact I had originally planned on using Peter. I actually helped kick start his healing process, but unfortunately his mind was too far gone into obsession about revenge. I couldn’t control him the way I needed to and then you and your merry band of misfits went ahead and killed him. Well, killed him temporarily I suppose is more accurate. Anyway, I had to forge a new plan.”

Scott smiles smugly and gestured lazily at his own body. “That’s when I realized I could use Scott instead. A newly bitten werewolf with a crap mentor – thank you, Derek for displaying epic levels of bad teaching methods – it really was the ideal way for me to shape the events to come. I already had a great relationship with this kid thanks to a very messy divorce, and all I had to do was subtly guide him and his friends in the right direction.” He chuckled. “Well, right for me. Not so much for the lot of you. I knew I needed to reignite the power of the Nemeton and it didn’t take much to persuade my fellow emissary Julia, or Jennifer Blake as you might remember her, to help me in my endeavor. I knew you wouldn’t be able to stay out of it, especially if she kidnapped your parents as the final sacrifice. Predictably, you fell for the ruse hook line and sinker and here we all are. You voluntarily died for them thus reawakening the dormant powers, and to this day, you were all slaves by it and its darkness. “

Stiles crossed his arms defiantly. For a split second, the sheriff thought he saw the tattoo snaking up his neck glow faintly in the rapidly falling darkness of the afternoon.

“I’ve got to give you kudos, man,” Stiles offered in mock appreciation. “I bet you’re a great chess player. You know, seeing the whole board and all. Patience and shit.”

Demon Scott scowled. “You seem awfully smug, Stiles, for someone who’s about to die horribly at my hands. Your demise is inevitable and in many ways the most important piece to my master plan.”

He turned to the Nemeton that was glowing faintly in a sickly green hue. The air itself seemed to be pulsating. “It’s time to perform the final sacrifice. Like I said – the guardians will have to lay down their lives, and as you can see I’m in control of both Scott and Allison at this point. Do as I please and I will let the rest go.”

Stiles scoffed and shook his head. “Yeah, right. I’m sure you will. Because demons always keep their word, right?”

Demon Scott looked somewhat affronted. “We have a somewhat unfair reputation. Most of the time we’re not lying per say. Just slightly bending the truth. Or purposefully omitting certain elements.”

Stiles rolled his eyes exaggeratingly. “Same shit, fancy wording, dickface. Now, why don’t you get to the point I’m sure you’re trying to make?”

The demon curled his lips in a way that made Scott’s normally so mild features look positively deranged. “You’ve always been a no nonsense kind of guy, Stiles. I actually like that about you. Fitting I must say, since you’re the key –  _literally_.”

“What do you mean?” Stiles darted a look at Derek who had slumped down on the ground, clearly exhausted after multiple attempts at breaking the mountain ash barrier. From beside him Lydia seemed to be muttering to herself. John cast her a concerned look but she didn’t notice. Her attention was fully trained on Stiles.

Demon Scott did a silly little twirl that would’ve been funny if not for the mortal peril. “For the gate to the underworld to open the Nemeton needs a final boost of power – the kind that killing its guardians can only provide. The final act, the unlocking if you will, have to be performed by one of the guardians. Naturally, there is a twist – there always is - he or she has to have demon blood in them. And that is where you come in, Stiles.”

A collective gasp ran through the clearing. The agent named Sam looked especially enraged and Derek had begun flinging himself at the barrier with renewed energy. Melissa and Lydia both looked pale and concerned and John – well he might not know much about - well _anything_ as it turned out – but having a son with demon blood was definitely something you filed under bad with a capital B. Scott chuckled merrily and gestured happily in Stiles’ direction.

“For a moment I thought my plan would backfire when Allison Argent showed up out of nowhere and joined you in your training. Thankfully, it was a false alarm. I sensed you had a spark in you from the first moment you stumbled into the animal clinic when Scott began working there years and years ago. At the time I didn’t make anything off it – Scott was still perfectly ordinary and my plan was still to use Peter at that point. When Scott gained his status as true alpha, I attempted to teach you, but as you know, I was unsuccessful. You might have guessed by now, but I failed on purpose so that I could send you to Natos for more extensive training.”

He paused, as if allowing his revelations to sink in. “You’re unfailingly self-sacrificing, Stiles, and I used that against you. I instructed Natos to make it difficult for you to access your powers and as a last resort suggest infusing your body with demon blood to speed up the process. Of course, I knew perfectly well that it would get you addicted, and right I was. How does it feel Stiles? To stand before your friends, your father and the people you love as nothing but a simple addict? And to know that you have willingly subjected yourself to what will be you and your friends’ demise.  Worst of all, you were tricked into it?”

Stiles didn’t respond. John felt the bottom of his stomach drop out – what was he talking about? _Addiction_? Demon blood?

Demon Scott cackled self-satisfactory. “I can control you now, Stiles. You have my blood in you. That makes me your master.”

He raised his hand palm out in Stiles’ direction and his eyes turned pitch black. The wind picked up again and it seemed to form a sort of tornado around Deaton and Stiles, kicking up leaves and branches in the process. The Sheriff had to duck his head to avoid the dust to hit his eyes. He couldn’t see what was happening but he could hear the demon in Scott’s voice muttering what must be incantations under his breath.

The wind picked up speed, and Scott’s voice rose in crescendo. John braved a look and saw that what looked like a massive black cloud was encircling Stiles and the demon. Scott’s voice was screaming now, but he couldn’t make any sense of the words. Probably Latin of some sort.

John could honestly say that he’d never been more scared in his life. He felt utterly helpless and somewhere in the middle of this clearing, his only son stood battling a supernatural creature he in all likelihood was powerless to beat. He felt his heart constrict painfully and it was suddenly hard to breathe. He was losing Stiles! Stiles was about to die in front of him and he hadn’t had a decent and truthful conversation with him in several years. His son was about to succumb to something as farfetched as a demon and John hadn’t had a chance to tell him how much he loved him, how proud he was of him, how incredibly much he reminded him of Claudia, and all in good ways.

Black spots were dancing in front of his eyes and he dimly registered that he was having a panic attack.

“Focus on my voice,” said Lydia soothingly beside him and John could little do but continue heaving for air, capitulating to the abyss of darkness creeping up on him from all sides.

“Sheriff Stilinski, this is important,” continued Lydia sounding alarmingly calm. “I want you to trust me. You’re having a panic attack. I’ve seen Stiles get one a few years back and I know how to stop it. But I need your help. I’m tied up as you know, otherwise I’d kiss you right now,” she said matter-of-factly.

It was such an absurd thing to say that he managed a snort through his hyperventilation. Lydia pursed her lips and shook her head. Around them leaves were spinning like a they were stuck in a gigantic turbine. “It might sound absurd, Sheriff,” she said primly, “but it stopped Stiles’ panic attack. He’s a surprisingly good kisser, by the way. Not that it matters now,” she mumbled. John continued to heave for air.

“Please, Sheriff. I need you to hold your breath. I know it probably goes against all your instincts, but you need to trust me on this.” John shook his head, but tried to do as she said. Every fiber of his being was fighting it - he needed air! He wasn’t getting enough of it – how could he possibly hold his breath?

“DO IT!!!” yelled Lydia suddenly with shocking strength and John was so surprised he accidentally held his breath – and would you look at that! It actually worked.

“You’re welcome,” said Lydia smugly and John shook his head in disbelief. She really was something.

Now that his lungs were back to normal function, he could focus on Stiles and the demon. Scott was still shouting out gibberish with what sounded like increasing frustration. He couldn’t see Stiles but the fact that he was still at it, was a good sign that he was still alive.

Suddenly a loud bang pierced the air and the black smoke seemed to stop midair before it all fell to the ground in one smooth movement. The air stilled and demon Scott stood panting, his hand still outstretched but the string of words had stopped. In the middle of the clearing, looking just as calm as before, stood Stiles. His rumpled hair was the only sign that he’d just spent minutes inside a supernatural tornado.

For the first time since taking possession of Scott’s body, the demon looks uncertain. His eyes were back to normal and they keep flickering from Stiles’ face to the Nemeton and back.

“How..?” he croaked and dropped to his knees in obvious exhaustion.

“Your plan,” said Stiles with an eerie calm that somehow frightened the Sheriff. It felt like he was radiating power. “Your plan is commendable, and rather ingenious. I have to give you props for patience. You’ve been running one incredibly long con. Too bad it won’t be paying off.”

He took a step towards the demon, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You see, Deaton, or whatever your real name might be, I’ve taken precautions, and a good thing I did as it turns out.”

In a smooth and fluid motion that John never would’ve associated with his spastic son, Stiles tugged his shirt off and let it drop to the forest floor. Sheriff Stilinski couldn’t help the small gasp that escaped him. Snaking and curling tattoos covered most of his body. They slithered across his arms, curled up his neck and disappeared onto his back. They seemed to form patterns and symbols, and unless he was totally losing it, some of them glowed faintly. They were strangely mesmerizing and even though John had a strict policy of NO WAY with regards to tattoos in general and never would’ve encouraged Stiles to get ink of any kind, they somehow suited him.

The demon possessing Scott howled like a petulant child. Stiles was smiling lopsidedly. He advanced slowly.

“So, how do you like my ink?” he asked casually gesturing to his torso. He did a slow twirl exposing the entire masterpiece. “You might have sent me away to be weakened by your minion, but unfortunate for you I’m a nosy little shit. Natos trained me hard, but what he didn’t realize was that I spent every free moment learning everything I could from the local supernatural experts. And believe me, there were many of them and all of them extremely forthcoming.”

He traced on of the twirls with a long finger, his gaze never leaving the demon. “I was already heavily into Natos little demon blood regimen when I came across this old, seemingly crazy woman. She could smell it on me and asked me who I intended on killing and why. I had no idea what she was on about and was rather surprised when she told me what mixing demon blood and humans actually was all about. Turns out it had nothing to do with the ability to access my spark-thingy. It was far more sinister, and I was this close to succumbing to the dark forever.”

He chuckled mirthlessly. John felt numb. Too much information and too many life-altering revelations in the space of a small hour, was finally catching up with him. Worst of all, in the middle of this supernatural shit storm stood Stiles.

Lydia seemed to be struggling to keep her mouth shut. She kept biting her lips and looked to be in pain. He squeezed her hand again. She squeezed back, and John noticed that her eyes were trained on Derek. He was still trapped inside the magic dust circle, but where he earlier had been livid and enraged he now looked on the verge of hysteria. Stiles glanced at him and something unreadable washed over his face. Whatever it was seemed to calm Derek somewhat and Stiles continued his little speech.

“Luckily she took pity on me and helped me focus the magic, taught me how to protect myself and enhance my powers with magical ink, and together we came up with a plan to beat the unhealthy habit of chugging demon blood. And yes, you’re right, it’s exactly like a drug addiction, just as powerful and overwhelming and just as agonizing to quit. Thankfully I had help.”

He glanced at Allison who smiled warmly at him.

“I’m actually kind of disappointed in you, Deaton, or whatever I should call you. You know I’m an expert bullshitter, and that is what I’ve been doing the past few months. Faking an addiction for old Natos over there, who is amazingly gullible by the way, at least for a demon. Basically, I’ve been lying my ass off every day while beating the habit one day at a time behind his – and your - back. Allison has been my rock. She’s been doling out my little fixes and reducing them day by day. I’m still not entirely clean, but I’m so close that I doubt I’d be any kind of useful “key” to your horrible plan.”

Deaton cried out shrilly. It sounded horrible coming from Scott but he still struggled to his feet, his eyes back to pitch black orbs.

“You’ll pay for this,” he snarled. “Natos! Finish her!”

The possessed Chris obeyed immediately tightening his grip around Melissa’s throat. John found himself shouting desperately and struggling against his restraints. Melissa’s feet was kicking out helplessly and her face slowly turning bluish. It was a macabre sight with the possessed Scott gleefully watching his mother die.

“Oh that is so not gonna happen!” growled Stiles. He took a deep breath and began chanting in a strange language.

“ _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica_.”

“NOOOOO!” Deaton/Scott looked positively deranged and began advancing on Stiles. Without breaking the chant, he simply lifted his hand out and the demon fell back as if he’d just ran into an invisible wall.

" _Ergo draco maledicte et omnis legio diabolica adjuramus te. Cessa decipere humanas creaturas, eisque aeternae Perditionis venenum propinare_ ”

Just when the sheriff thought he’d seen it all, the ground around Chris began glowing faintly in a reddish hue. It looked like lines forming some sort of pentagram etched into the undergrowth. Stiles continued to chant undeterred and soon Chris began to writhe around as if in pain. The grip on Melissa loosened and she fell to the ground gasping and coughing violently. Chris fell to his knees his eyes pitch black and he looked to be in agonizing pain. Soon wisps of black smoke began seeping out of every orifice – his eyes, his ears, his nose, his mouth.

Stiles’ chant intensified and John startled visibly when Lydia joined him. Together their voices mixed, the air seemed to vibrate with power and Chris began crawling over the forest floor. The glowing lines seemed to hold him prison though, because he howled with pain when one of his hands touched the barrier. He fell onto his back and screamed a soul-churning scream. Black smoke erupted out of him like a powerful geyser, the air cracked with lightening and then it was just gone.

For a few seconds it was dead silent. Then Allison sprang to life and ran to her father who was slowly coming to. She fell to the forest floor, cradled his head in her lap and hurried to loop a chain of some sort around his neck. John saw some sort of metal reflect on it – it looked like some sort of pendant.

“You little shit!” wheezed Scott as he struggled to his feet. Stiles grinned broadly evidently very pleased with himself.

“It’s time to admit defeat, Deaton. Your minion is banished back to the hell he came from and you’re vastly outnumbered here.”

The Sheriff noticed that the two FBI agents had regained control of their bodies and were stealthily creeping in on Scott. Stiles seemed to have noticed too and continued talking to distract him.

“There’s no use in trying to possess anyone else. I am as you can see,” he pointed to one of the tattoos on his chest, “protected against possession and Allison has the same kind of tattoo.”

Allison lifted the hem of her shirt and revealed an identical symbol on her left hip. “I’m also guessing the two FBI imposing hunters have similar protections,” he continued with a broad smile. “Incidentally also Lydia and Derek are protected.”

John more felt than saw Lydia startle and Derek looked genuinely shocked. “They just don’t know it. I managed to sneak pendants like the one Allison just put on her dad into their jacket pockets earlier today. I even managed to sneak one into my dad’s gun holster, so don’t bother targeting him either. The only one I didn’t get around to was Scott and I think I need to do something about that. Besides, possessing a werewolf is much harder than a human, and I can see you’re struggling to stay in control. It shouldn’t be too long before Scott will push you out of his own accord.”

For someone who looked utterly defeated the demon in Scott acted surprisingly fast. A whirl of black smoke unfurled from Scott’s mouth in a matter of seconds and dove back into the lifeless body of Alan Deaton. The Vet jumped to his feet looking completely savage. If looks could kill, John was sure Stiles would be stone cold dead by now.

“PETER!! I NEED YOU,” howled the vet and for a split second, even Stiles looked startled. The sheriff only had a few seconds to ponder who Peter was before Peter Hale – who surely was supposed to be quite dead – leapt into the clearing, wolfed out and snarling.

“SCOTT!!” yelled Stiles. “Are you with me, buddy? We desperately need some alpha juice right about now!”

Scott was groaning and struggling to his feet, his eyes flashing red and the transformation already starting to ripple through his body. He threw his head back and howled. Just a second later, it was answered.

“Cora and Isaac,” sighed Lydia with relief. “They’re close by!”

At this point John didn't even care what kind of supernatural creatures they might be, as long as they could help clean up this clusterfuck. That other demon was eviscerated, but Deaton was still around and now back in his previous meat suit. Sheriff Stilinski might be a totally newbie when it came to magic and whatnot, but there was no way in hell (a place he suspected just might exist) that the body of Alan Deaton was alive and well without the demonic black smoke monster inhabiting it.

Peter was snarling and closing in on Chris and Allison. Chris Argent still looked to be more or less out of it, but Allison was quick on her feet. She flipped up like a Russian gymnast, landed with precision and hurled what looked like Chinese ring daggers at Peter. They lodged themselves in his chest, and he glanced down at them with eyes that flashed crimson red.

“How on earth is he an alpha too,” shrieked Lydia. John didn't care one way or the other. The ring daggers had stopped him, but he looked more annoyed than hurt. Allison hurled another that buried into his leg to the hilt. Deaton was looking murderous as he turned to Stiles again.

“I refuse to let you ruin my plans!” he wheezed.

It was as if all traces of humanity had left him.

“Peter will take care of all your little friends. He’s an alpha again, as you can see. He took all of Jennifer Blake’s powers when he killed her. He’s been feeding of the Nemeton for years, steadily regaining his full alpha potential. Your little buddy, Scott might be a true alpha, but he lacks the spine and the courage to do what is necessary. I’ve seen to that. I’ve been nurturing his no-kill code for years.”

Stiles shrugged carelessly and the smile curling his lips was as scary as it was fascinating. It was radiating power and a confidence John never thought he’d see in his son.

“You’re right,” he said with a drawl. “Scott won’t kill anyone, and that is what makes him the ideal alpha. Luckily for us, his pack members have no such qualms.”

John noticed Stiles nodding to Lydia and in the next moment, several things happened more or less simultaneously.

Lydia screamed.

It was the most frightening sound John had heard all day and he felt the hairs on his body rise along with his already rapidly beating pulse. Allison spun around grabbed her bow and hurled it at the ring of weird ashes that was trapping Derek. The circle broke and Derek wasted no time. With a howl, he raced towards his uncle who’d removed the daggers, Scott hot on his heels.

They collided in a pile of limbs, teeth and snarls. The sheriff couldn’t really keep up, their movements were too fast. Deaton was still standing and his black eyes were back, and it was clear that he was gearing up for another attack. Stiles just shook his finger at him.

“Not so fast there, vet,” he said casually. “I think it’s time to admit defeat.”

The bushes behind the tree John was tied to suddenly burst to life, and what he assumed was Cora Hale and Isaac Lahey burst through and hurled themselves into the fray. Stiles gestured towards them with his head.

“Four against one. Not great odds even if he is an alpha.”

Deaton laughed mirthlessly. “You might be right, Stiles,” he said silkily. “Perhaps I might not be able to possess you as planned, and my goal of opening the gates might have to be postponed for a while.” He cocked his head in a manner that defied human nature. John felt sick to his stomach. “But I can still kill you.”

He raised his hand towards Stiles and John began thrashing against his restraints. Stiles however looked unconcerned.

“Yes, you can,” he agreed with a nod. “But, as it turns out, I can also kill you.”

Stiles reached out towards Deaton, closed his eyes and his body began vibrating. John thought he saw some of the lines around his neck glow faintly again. The air became almost magnetic. It seemed to crackle and winds began to blow. Deaton had always been a picture of calm, but now he looked scared.

It happened in a manner of seconds. His eyes flashed yellow, his body convulsed and for a few moments, it was as if all oxygen was sucked out of the air. Then the body of Alan Deaton slumped to the forest floor, his eye sockets burned out and empty, his body smoking slightly. Stiles slowly lowered his arm and then opened his eyes. For a second they seemed to flash yellow too, but it was probably just a trick of the light. The tall FBI agent had struggled to his feet and was staring at Stiles with something that looked scarily like compassion and understanding. He muttered ‘I’ll be damned’ and turned to help his partner to his feet.

A whimper drew their attention back to the werewolf fight still very much in full swing. The whimper came from Cora who was stumbling out of the fight, a nasty gash across her chest. Stiles swore under his breath and burst into action.

“ALLISON,” he yelled as he ran towards the tree where John and Lydia were trapped. “Close combat with a juiced up Peter is not gonna end well. Some of them need to back off and give you and these two goons a chance to shoot him with full of bullets and arrows.”

He turned towards the agents who had picked up their guns and shotgun. “I assume you’ve got wolfsbane bullets in those.”

The scruffy one looked highly affronted. “Of course we do.”

“Good,” said Stiles impatiently. “If you wanna make yourself useful you’ll help Allison hunt down that feral and psychopathic alpha and put him in the ground once and for all. He’s come back from the dead once before, let’s make sure he stays very dead this time!”

They nodded and joined Allison in flanking the gang of fighting werewolves.

“Scott,” Stiles shouted. “Get out of the fight, take Isaac with you. We can’t risk him hurting or killing you, because we need you, buddy. Derek, if there’s one person Peter would love to kill, it’s you. Get him to chase you. Allison and the hunters will take him out.”

John didn’t pay any attention to the wolves. All he could do was stare at his son. Stiles walked slowly towards them, a sheepish and almost shy look on his face. He stopped a few feet from them and smiled.

“Hey Lyds,” he said fondly. “I see you’re a bit tied up.”

“Very funny, Stilinski,” said Lydia and rattled the handcuffs. “Would you mind getting us out of these? They are chafing my wrists and ruining my manicure.”

He laughed affectionately and John more felt than saw Lydia roll her eyes.

“Wanna see something cool?” he asked almost coyly. Lydia shrugged. Stiles smiled, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The next moment the handcuffs sprang open.

Lydia gasped, shrieked and flung herself at him with such force they almost toppled over. Stiles laughed warmly.

“You did it!! You learnt to control it!”

She stepped back and positively beamed at him. Stiles shrugged. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

Lydia hit him on the shoulder and glared at him. “You little shit! You’ve got so much explaining to do! I want to know everything.”

“Yeah yeah, all in due time. Let’s wait until they’ve killed Peter. Why don’t you go see if Scott, Cora and Isaac need any help?”

Lydia nodded. Suddenly her phone began ringing and she fished it out of her pocket with surprising grace considering she’d been tied up for the better part of an hour.

“Oh now he’s calling me back,” she sighed dramatically. “It’s Danny,” she informed them as she sauntered off to take the call. Stiles paled visibly, but it was soon gone when he slowly met John’s eyes.

“So, dad,” he said with a bashful grin, scratching nervously at his neck. “I guess we have a bit to talk about, huh?”

 


	19. Cora

They were in the middle of a very furious round of Trivial Pursuit.

Normally Cora wouldn't consider spending even an iota of her time on stupid board games, but truthfully they all needed to get their minds off the events of days past and this was a good a distraction as any. She leaned forward to pick a card and winced in pain.

“Are you alright?”

Isaac was leaning over towards her, his face filled with concern. Cora smiled weakly and grabbed the card. He laid a hand on her lower back. It felt soothing.

“I’m okay,” she reassured. “A wound from an alpha always takes longer to heal. I’ll be fine in a few days.”

Isaac didn’t look convinced but refrained from further comment. The hand however stayed firmly on her back. Cora really didn’t mind.

“Let’s hear it, then,” snapped Lydia as she sipped her tea daintily. “Less cuddling and more reading, please.”

She arched an eyebrow and Cora rolled her eyes. Ever since the epic showdown with Deaton in the Preserve, Lydia had been on a rampage to try and pair up as many of the pack members as possible. Poor Scott and Allison had been lured into one romantic setting after the other. No one had claimed responsibility, yet everyone knew Lydia was behind it all.

In the case of Scott and Allison, it hadn't taken much prodding to get them to reunite. Even at this very moment, they were demonstrating how ridiculously in love they were on the couch opposite Cora, paying only a minimum amount of attention to the game and maximum attention to each other.

Cora read the question with a smile. Unsurprisingly Lydia knew the answer, and smugly collected yet another pie. Danny rolled the dice and groaned in frustration.

“This is so unfair! I’m basically on my own. Edward and Bella over there are no help whatsoever.”

Lydia grinned wickedly while studying her nails.

“It’s karma dear,” she purred. “If you’d answered your phone when I called, I’m sure the universe would be more in your favor. It’s all about  _balance_ you see.”

Danny scowled and moved his piece to a green field. “Hit me,” he barked and Lydia complied. Allison and Scott were as predicted entirely useless, and Danny slumped back into his chair when the question turned out to be of the impossible kind.

“I demand a new teammate,” he mumbled darkly. “Someone not attached to each other like leeches.”

“Oh shush,” chided Lydia smartly. “I don’t even have a teammate.”

Danny snorted and slumped in his seat. “No, but then again you are in possession of a brain with an IQ of 170.”

The door opened as Lydia was about to retort and they all turned to watch Derek stomp in looking somewhat harried.

“Hi, Derek,” she smiled. “How did the meeting with the Sheriff go?”

Derek rolled his eyes and headed for the kitchen. “Let’s just say I have a better understanding of where Stiles gets his damned curiosity from,” he muttered.  

“I gather he had some questions,” inquired Cora innocently. Derek snorted.

“’ _Some questions_ ’ is not the phrase I’d use. He came fully prepared with a binder thicker than the Lord of The Rings trilogy. You’d thought he’d gotten most of the answers from Stiles already but apparently he didn’t quite trust him to answer everything truthfully. Something about ‘a tendency to bend the truth’.”

“Well, at least it’s over,” said Cora with a grin. Derek snorted. She heard the door to the fridge opening and closing.

“Hardly,” he replied dryly. “The Sheriff is expecting me back tomorrow for even more prodding. He’s especially hung up on the Kanima, for some reason.”

“Well,” said Lydia consolingly, “we can offer you a temporary escape if you will. Danny is in need of a new teammate. He’s not really happy with the lip-locked duo over there.”

“Mw resent thwawt” mumbled Scott indignantly without breaking contact with Allison’s lips and with a lazy hand gesture in Lydia’s general direction.

“No you don’t,” chided Allison with a grin as she expertly grabbed his arm and brought it back around her waist. Scott purred and immediately went back to trailing lazy kisses down her neck. It was all very sickening.

“So,” said Danny hopefully and nodded towards the board. “You up for it?”

Derek froze and looked to be in a state of severe constipation. His eyes travelled from Danny to the board, and back again, his expression unreadable.

“Oh, come on,” needled Cora. “You used to love playing board games as a kid. Help Danny out why don’t you?”

“I don’t think so,” he muttered between clenched teeth. “Why don’t you get _Stiles_ to help you out instead? You used to love _putting your heads together_ if I’m not mistaken.”

Without further ado, Derek swept out of the room in a manner eerily reminiscent of Severus Snape. All that was missing was a black cloak and a mop of greasy hair. Cora was in all honesty appalled. They heard a door slam. For a moment, everyone sat frozen. Then, when nothing more happened, they all sprang into action again. Everyone but Danny who was looking suspiciously pale.

“What on earth was that all about?” asked Cora. “I’ll be the first to admit Derek can be a little socially inept at times, but that was just plain rude.”

“Leave it,” muttered Isaac looking shiftily from his girlfriend to Danny and then averted his eyes to the board. Cora snorted.

“Why would I leave it? Just give me a second and I’ll knock some sense into him. I get that he’s had a trying day, but that does not excuse this kind of behavior.”

“Isaac's right. Just forget it,” said Danny with a weak smile and grabbed the dice.

As if on cue, a door opened noisily and someone more or less tripped into the apartment.

“Forget what?”

Cora rolled her eyes and swore internally. When did her life turn into a Spanish farce?

Stiles bounced into the room bringing with him waves of spastic energy. Literally.

It was a thing he seemed to be doing lately. The leading theory suggested it was a byproduct of his newly awakened magical ability. Lydia had tried to explain it to them in scientific terms, but no one had understood a word. Explained in layman’s terms, Stiles seemed to project his mood onto everyone else. According to both Stiles and Lydia it was something that would wear off when the last of the demon blood had left his system and had a bit more  practice under his belt.

It had taken a few days before anyone truly noticed. Mostly because their moods had been elated after the demons had been dealt with and the FBI/hunters had helped capture Peter and taken him with them to be disposed of far, far away from Beacon Hills. Sure, sheriff Stilinski had been in a state of borderline hysteria, but mostly he’d been grateful that they’d all lived through it. After some prodding from Melissa, he’d even agreed to let the interrogations wait a few days.

 

To celebrate they’d been hanging around Derek and Cora’s apartment, wolfing down copious amounts of pizza when all of a sudden the mood had shifted noticeably. Not to mention in a very _specific_  way.

 

Cora blushed just thinking about it. It had happened almost instantaneously. One moment she'd been happily digging into a slice of greasy pepperoni pizza and the next she'd been overcome with – well _arousal_. It soon became apparent that she wasn’t the only one. Allison and Scott had pounced on each other like they were starved for touch, Isaac had begun feeling her up under the table and if the blush on Lydia’s cheeks had been anything to go by, she'd been affected as well. Only Lydia had the presence of mind to ask what was up and it was a very sheepish and intensely embarrassed Stiles that had to confess that it was in all likelihood his fault. He’d fled the scene soon thereafter and Cora never did find out why he all of a sudden had become intensely – well,  _horny_.

Since Stiles had been careful to only interact with others when he was in a “pure mood” (his own words). His mood was clearly “pure” now thank goodness, all she picked up was a wave of confusion.

“Hello, anyone hear me?” Stiles waved his hand at the room in general. “Forget about what? What’s going on?”

Cora groaned and rolled her eyes. “Derek’s being a dick and rude to our guests. I don’t suppose you’d pair up with Danny in a roaring game of TP? Derek flat out refused and have hidden in his bedroom, all huffy.”

Stiles paled and scanned the room with a spastic neck movement that she hadn’t seen since high school. His eyes landed on Danny and they widened almost comically.

“Hey Danny,” he said with false cheeriness. The mood suddenly turned decidedly nervous. “I didn’t know you were in town.” Danny met his eyes with a weak smile.

“Lydia called me in. As usual I turned up late to the party. How have you been?” Stiles shrugged awkwardly and scratched his head, nervous. Cora exchanged a confused look with Lydia. She seemed equally lost. Isaac kept on muttering under his breath, but Cora just swatted at him to keep quiet. He huffed and sank into the sofa with a deep scowl.

“I’ve been better,” confessed Stiles honestly grinning slightly. “But I’ll be alright. How about you? How’s New York? I’m really sorry about the transfer thing. I don’t think I ever got to tell you that, you left so abruptly and I didn’t know if I should call or text so I just – didn’t. I was part mad, part confused and that didn’t really mix too well with apologies. Then it was sort of too late I guess.”

Now Cora was totally lost. Why would Stiles be sorry that Danny transferred? Danny shrugged uncomfortably but managed a weak smile.

“I’m good. It was tough at first, but I’ve made some great friends. I’m even in a fraternity.”

“No way! What?” Stiles laughed openly and just like that some of the intense energy seemed to evaporate. Danny grinned crookedly.

“I totally am and it’s all kinds of awesome. I think you’d like it actually. If you’re ever in the big apple you should stop by.” Stiles smirked.

“I might take you up on that.”

Scott disentangled from Allison with an audible pop and smiled broadly like the puppy he really was.

“What is this I see? Have you two finally kissed and made up? That was one long-ass fight, dudes. And I never really understood what it was all about anyway?”

They all jumped as a door wrenched open violently. Derek stormed into the room. He threw Scott an annoyed look before his eyes swept stonily from Danny to Stiles and then to the ceiling in one of his patented eye rolls.

“That’s because you’re incredible dense sometimes, Scott,” he said icily. “No offense to your Alpha-abilities in general, but you should work on your observational skills.”

“Dude?” Scott arched his eyebrows all the way onto his hairline. “What are you on about?”

Derek laughed mirthlessly and continued through the apartment like a tornado.

“I don’t know if they’ve  _kissed and made u_ p, but they sure did use to kiss –  _a lot_!”

The door banged shut behind him and for almost seven seconds all was quiet.

“WHAT. THE. HOLY. HELL?”

Lydia broke the silence. She’d crossed her arms over her chest and plastered on her patented “why was in not informed, I am the queen of everything-look. It was very intimidating. Isaac was cowering.

“So,” said Stiles shiftily and squirmed on the spot. Danny was hiding his face in his hands. “I guess the cat’s out the bag, then.”

“STILES!”

Lydia was just glaring. Stiles’ cheeks were glowing red.

“Alright, alright. So Danny and I kind of used to be a thing.”

Scott looked shell-shocked. “Dude!!! Dudes?”

Stiles arched an eyebrow. “You got a problem with that? Because yes –dudes. But also girls. I’m flexible, if you will.”

Scott made a production of separating from Allison who looked nothing more than mildly amused. Naturally, thought Cora with a sigh. She’d spent months with Stiles, of course she knew.

“No, no bro, I have no problem with the dudes part. You can swing whatever way you want, I don’t care. It’s just… why didn’t you tell me? And Danny! How could you hide something like that? I mean, how is that even possible?”

Stiles snorted, Cora tittered and Lydia rolled her eyes in exasperation. Isaac pretended to be absorbed in an old issue of Vogue.

“Oh, Scott,” said Allison softly and wrapped her arms around him. “You’ve got many amazing qualities. But Derek’s right, your observational skills when it comes to things like this are sorely lacking.” Scott whipped his head around glaring at them one at a time.

“What? So you all knew?” Lydia pursed her lips and shook her head.

“I knew nothing of this, and I have  _AMAZING_  observational skills. When did this happen anyway?”

Danny and Stiles exchanged furtive looks and both blushed crimson.

“Oh, this will be good,” said Lydia gleefully. “Stiles, you blush all the time, but Danny never blushes. I want details and I want them now.”

“Kill me now,” muttered Stiles and sank into a vacant chair. Danny laughed mirthlessly and kicked at his leg.

“Don’t you know magic? Why don’t you just disapparte or something?” Stiles rolled his eyes and gestured to his forehead.

“Do I look like Harry Potter to you? Not possible I’m afraid.”

“Well,” said Cora expectantly. “Start talking. You know you’re not going anywhere before everything is on the table. And we do mean EVERYTHING.”

Isaac groaned like he was in agonizing pain. “No, please,” he said faintly, his head shaking from side to side making his curls dance. “Not EVERYTHING. Believe me, you don’t want to know everything.”

He slowly raised his head when he realized four sets of eyes were glaring at him. “What?” he asked weakly. Stiles laughed and soon Danny joined him. They look both startled to be amused by the same thing, like they hadn’t agreed on anything for a long time. Cora sensed pain and hurt under the surface and instinctively knew that it wouldn’t do to prod too hard. Not today anyway.

“Oh my god,” exclaimed Lydia indignantly. “You knew about this, didn’t you? Isaac? Did you know?” Isaac nodded weakly.

“Yes, I knew. For Christ sake, I was witness to the whole sordid thing when it first started. I’ve got mental scars, let me tell you.”

“You’re such a drama queen,” said Stiles with a grin. “Mental scars? You’ve lived through alpha packs, darachs, a nasty fae infestation and this –“ he gestured between Danny and himself – “is what gives you trauma?”

Isaac’s head whipped up and he glared daggers in Stiles’ direction.

“Dude, it was like being plunged into a live action porn movie – hard core shit I might add – and I was totally blindsided by the whole thing. It was a little disturbing, and the worst part was that it left me all alone in a gay club and I had to more or less claw myself out of the grip of one very persistent guy. All in all a nightmare night in every aspect on my part. So yes – trauma!”

Stiles threw his hands up in mock surrender. “Sheesh, sorry dude. It was not like we’d planned on that happening anyway.” He glanced around, rolled his eyes and slumped back in capitulation.

“Okay, so here’s what happened. It was right after that thing with the Kelpies, and we’d planned on going out to celebrate. Then Lydia got sidetracked because Jackson came to visit, and Scott were busy dealing with the repercussions after your dad came clean about why he left. You both bowed out. Allison chose to stay with Scott, which I totally get. So, that left Isaac, Danny and me. We ended up at Jungle because a) Danny knew all the bouncers and could get us in without any fake IDs and b) Chantal and Barb, you know those drag queens I know, had been bugging me to pay them a visit. Turns out that Chantal had no issues supplying underage guys with copious amount of alcohol. Danny boy and I got pretty plastered. All Isaac got was a mild buzz. I suppose I don’t have to spell it out from there – it was dancing which turned into grinding which turned into groping which turned into –

“Alright, alright, we get the picture”, said Scott weakly. Isaac grinned wickedly.

“Now you know my pain.”

“But…” Cora chewed her lower lip thoughtfully. “I get that you had a drunk hook-up or whatever, but if you kept seeing each other, why didn’t you say anything?”

Stiles shifted in his chair and Danny pursed his lips, deliberately not looking at anyone.

“That was totally my fault,” admitted Stiles after a while. “I guess I wasn’t entirely comfortable about the direction my love life suddenly had taken. Honestly, I hadn’t really entertained the thought of possibly being bisexual until that happened.”

Danny snorted.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know the speech, Danny.” Stiles sounded tired, like it was an old issue chewed over many times.

“You’d been asking me since freshman year whether or not you were attractive to gay guys, Stiles,” said Danny irritably. “How do you expect people to believe you when you claim you didn’t mean anything by it?”

“That’s true,” concurred Lydia. “I’ve heard you ask that many times.”

“Hey, I’m not trying to deny that,” said Stiles angrily. “All I’m saying is that I at the time of this drunken encounter hadn’t really grasped why I was so curios. You know me; I ask a lot of weird questions about all matter of topics. How was I supposed to know my subconscious was trying to tell me about my fluid preferences?”

“Let’s just leave it, yeah?” said Danny. “It’s in the past anyway. But that was the reason why Stiles didn’t want to tell everyone. He wanted to come to terms with it himself, and also give it some time to see if it was more than just a hookup.”

“And was it?” Lydia cocked her head and smiled sadly at Danny. “More than a hookup?”

“Yeah,” said Stiles almost inaudibly. “It was. We kept it secret, save for poor Isaac who were forced to tell a few elaborate half-truths on our account every now and then – sorry about that bro.” Isaac glowered. “We kept it secret all through graduation and as you know we were both accepted to Berkeley so…”

Stiles trailed off.

“Oh my, you shared a dorm at college,” said Cora with wide eyes.

“Yeah,” said Danny, “we did. Still Stiles was reluctant to share the fact that shared more than just the room. In the end, I just couldn’t take it anymore. So I ended it and transferred to New York.”

“Stiles,” said Lydia with such venom he shrank back like a threatened dog. “That was a shitty thing to do! Why couldn’t you just tell us? You know we wouldn’t care about that, and neither would your dad!”

“I know that,” said Stiles silently without meeting her eyes.

“Then why?”

“Yeah, why dude,” said Scott and clasped a hand on his shoulder squeezing it.

“Just leave it guys,” said Danny with a shrug. “It’s not important, and it’s history anyway...”

“Oh Danny, honey,” said Lydia harshly, “of course it’s important. It was important enough that you felt the need to flee across the country.”

“It wouldn’t have worked out anyway,” muttered Danny, his cheeks rosy.

“And why is that? If Stiles had been willing to give it a proper go-”

“That’s just it, isn’t it,” cut Danny with surprising force. “If a relationship is going to work then both parties need to be equally invested. We were never really in balance, and I knew that. I knew from the start that Stiles didn’t feel the same way I did. I tried hard not to fall too hard, but I did anyway. The only thing I could do was move away, and move on. Because it would’ve ended badly anyway, and better sooner than later.”

The room fell silent. All that was heard was the drip from the kitchen faucet and the faint sound of a car alarm a few streets over.

“Don’t be mad at Stiles.” Danny looked around the room, his eyes nothing but sincere. “In his defense he’s the densest fucker I’ve known when it comes to feelings. He’s amazing with facts and lore and deductions, but matters of the heart, especially his own, is still something he’s got trouble figuring out.”

“Dude…” Stiles looked pleadingly at Danny and it was obvious it wasn’t the first time he’d heard this.

“No, Stiles,” said Danny firmly. “You’re a great guy and you deserve to be happy, but like I told you when I left, you have to figure it out on your own. I can’t tell you what to do, even if I know what you _should_ do.”

“Come on, Danny, you know that’s ridiculous,” protested Stiles weakly. Danny barked out a laugh.

“Yeah right, ridiculous is it? Well,  _ridiculous_  just stormed out in a huffy rage, so…”

Stiles blushed to the tips of his ears. The puzzle pieces clicked into place in an instant and Cora whirled her head around to meet Lydia’s eyes in a show of mutual realization.

“Oh my god, that makes so much sense,” said Lydia breathlessly. “You know he’s very attuned to his heartbeat – could hear it was different and was all concerned about it.”

“It explains a lot of veiled comments and grumpy ramblings,” added Cora with a wicked grin. Danny looked particularly pleased. Stiles looked like he was ready to perform Hara-kiri.

“Well, my work is done I guess,” said Danny evilly and whipped out his phone. “If you’ll all excuse me I think I’ll call my boyfriend now.”

“I’m late to meet my dad,” mumbled Stiles and bolted from the room, Lydia and Cora’s wicked laughter trailing after him. Scott looked dumbfounded.

“What on earth was that all about?” he asked confusedly. Allison patted his cheek lovingly.

“It’s a good thing you’ve got other redeeming qualities,” she smiled. Scott scowled.

“Why do I get the feeling that I don’t really want to know.”

The others just laughed.

 


	20. Sheriff Stilinski

Under normal circumstances, he’d be the first to agree that a glass of Jack at noon was not a good idea. Two glasses would be just stupid, and three – well at three he’d probably be beyond caring. Good thing normal circumstances had left the premises. Heck, normal circumstances had by all accounts left the town a long time ago. He was just a bit slow on the uptake. So all in all – Jack at noon. All kinds of okay.

It would at least help him sleep, and John desperately needed that. He’d been on the night shift since the events in the woods, and had spent his days interrogating his son and pack (literally as it turned out) of friends. The morning had been spent with Derek Hale, and it had been illuminating to say the least.

The Sheriff had just whipped out a pack of Oreo’s (surprisingly good with Jack – who knew?) when he heard the Jeep screech to a halt in the driveway. A moment later Stiles fell into the house in his usual manner. John could hear him muttering under his breath on his way to the kitchen.

It still startled him whenever he saw him these days. The tattoos had been a shock, but funnily enough, he got used to them quickly. He’d never admit it of course, in case it encouraged him to get more, but it really did suit him. It was the other changes that got him the most. Stiles looked, well all grown up. Sure, he was still Stiles in all his sarcastic glibness and his limbs could still flail with the best of them. But he was calmer. More focused. Almost in balance.

Now however he looked ruffled. John watched as he went to the cupboard and got a glass, sank down in the chair opposite of him and reached for the whiskey.

“Please don’t go all Sheriff on me, dad,” he said tiredly when John leaned back and crossed his arms. “I’ve had a trying day.”

John immediately sobered. “You alright? Is it anything with the demon blood thing? You’re not falling off the wagon are you?”

Stiles shook his head. “No, don’t worry about that. Allison’s got full control and doles out the fixes – ah don’t scowl, dad – like a pro. I’ll be completely off it in about a month.”

The sheriff nodded with relief. Finding out that the supernatural was lurking around every corner of his town had been easier to swallow than the knowledge that his only son was for all intents and purposes an addict and would probably on some level struggle with that for the rest of his life.

“That’s good.” He smiled tiredly. “I’ve seen many cases of addiction in my time, and I have to say I’m very proud of you.”

Stiles squirmed and tried to shrink down in his chair. “Don’t say that. I’m not. I’m just incredibly angry with myself for not realizing it sooner. I never really trusted Deaton, but I really wanted to be of help to Scott and the others, and so I went with it. I was stupid.”

John shook his head. “No, son. You were human. You were being a good friend. You were self-sacrificing and loyal. And you got played. Most addicts get into it willingly, thinking it won’t control them. You didn’t know what you were getting into, but you took control of it. That takes strength.”

Stiles looked embarrassed and pleased at the same time.

“I had help.”

“Yes you did. Remind me to put that Argent girl on my Christmas shopping list. But you had the good sense to ask for it.”

Stiles shrugged and twirled his glass before swallowing it all down with a grimace. The atmosphere changed noticeably to confusion, frustration and a whiff of fear. The Sheriff sat up in his chair and wordlessly refilled Stiles’ glass. He arched an eyebrow at his dad and then slumped further into the chair.

“No, no, no. Just no.”

“Yes.”

“No dad, please no. Just one more month and then this projecting my mood-thing will be gone. I can’t wait.”

John smiled broadly. “Yes, and in the meantime I will exploit it to the best of my ability. Something is clearly bothering you and weighing on your mind and it’s my fatherly duty to get to the bottom of it.”

Stiles looked at him pleadingly. “Can we please just skip it? Just this once?”

“Son,” said John in his most fatherly voice. “You’ve been keeping me in the dark about more or less everything that goes on in your life for years. That time is over. You owe me. I want you to spill it, and perhaps I can even help you out.”

Stiles snorted. “I doubt that.”

“I don’t care. At least try me.”

Stiles traced his finger over the rim of the glass, his forehead wrinkled in deep thought. John was still baffled by the fact that he could now, at least temporarily, feel his son’s mood. Stiles had always been good at deflecting attention away from his own problems. For once in his life, he was unable to talk his way out of it. The mood switched from frustration to apprehension and a tinge of fear. The sheriff sat up straighter in his chair and reached for another Oreo. Whatever was bothering Stiles he had a feeling he might need the extra boost of sugar. It was a testament to how preoccupied Stiles was that he didn’t even comment.

John bit in to the cookie and waited patiently. Stiles was drumming his fingers on the table. John managed to finish the Oreo and was busy brushing away the crumbs when Stiles finally cleared his throat.

“I saw Danny today,” he said almost inaudibly and the waves of guilt mixed with fear almost knocked John over. “He was at Derek and Cora’s. I think Lydia had called him.”

John leaned back chewing his bottom lip. “Ah, I see. I gather that was a shock to you after all this time. And awkward I’m guessing.”

Stiles nodded, then startled and whipped his head up. “What do you mean by that? Why, why would you think it was awkward?”

He looked like a deer caught in headlights.

“Well,” said John with a sad smile, “I’m guessing it was a messy breakup since he moved clear across the country. And if you haven’t seen or talked to him since, then it stands to reason it would be awkward.”

Stiles opened his mouth, closed it again and then slumped into his chair.

“Ah, so you knew about that?”

John nodded. “I knew. I was just waiting for you to tell me about it.”

“But, but – we were so careful. I mean only Isaac really knew. Even Lydia didn’t know and Lydia knows everything.”

John laughed and patted Stiles’ hand. “You do realize that I’m the sheriff in this rather small town, right? You have a very distinct car that most of my deputies know of it – why do I think I bought you that in the first place.”

“What? Oh my god, you’re terrible!”

John laughed heartily. “I just can’t believe you never saw through that. You’re usually so good at figuring things out. So yes it was terrible – terribly clever.”

Stiles mumbles something incomprehensible but John was pretty sure it was not worth repeating.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” He looked so forlorn and sad, and for a moment, it was as if his ten year old son was sitting in front of him, confessing he’d accidentally broken his mom’s favorite vase.

“Lydia and the others got a bit mad when they found out, and everyone immediately thought that it was because I was ashamed or something. It really, really wasn’t though. I need you to know that.”

“I know that.”

“You do?”

John nodded. “We’re a lot alike you and me. We’ve been hurt in the worst way when your mom died. I’ve been mourning her for more than a decade and I’ve been shutting everyone else out except for the people I already had in my life. You’re the same way. You’re fiercely loyal to those you let into your life and your heart, but until they’ve completely earned that spot, you’ll keep them at arm’s length.”

“Oh my god, dad. You make us sound broken.”

John shrugged. “In some ways we kind of are. But that doesn’t mean it can’t be fixed. I don’t know what happened with Danny and you, but I know that he wasn’t really a close part of your circle of friends until the end of high school. I have a feeling you were taking your time, testing it out. Because when you accept someone into your life, you’ll never let them go. You’ll go to the end of the world and back, even almost destroy yourself to help and protect them. You’d do that for Scott, that I know. You’d probably do the same for Lydia, Allison and the others. But would you go to the same extremes for Danny?”

Stiles looked on the verge of tears and John couldn’t take it anymore. Next, he was hugging his son so tight it might leave bruises.

“I’m a terrible person,” mumbled Stiles, his voice breaking. “You’re right. I wouldn’t have done that for Danny. I never thought about it like that, but you’re right. When he left, it did hurt, but not as much as it should have. It didn’t hurt like with mom. I could live without him.”

They stood like that for a long, long time. Eventually they did let go. John noticed Stiles’ eyes were red, but didn’t comment.

“Oreo?” he offered. Stiles laughed and nodded.

“You really shouldn’t have any of those you know.”

“My son is finally talking to me about his love life, so I think I’m entitled to at least three.”

“Oh my god, dad, we’re not talking about it for even one more second.”

“Is that so? Well in that case, I’m sure we can go back to talking about all the stuff you’ve been hiding and lying about for the last few years. I’m particularly interested in this Kanima-thing.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and dropped down into his chair again.

“Love life it is, then,” he said dejectedly. “I just can’t bear the thought of rehashing the whole Jackson thing again.”

“And why is that? Because Lydia is still in love with him?”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “No. I mean yes, she’s still in love with him, and let me tell you she’s the only one who could ever really handle his bullshit anyway, so I guess that’s perfect in a weird sort of way. And he’s not that much of a douchebag anymore, so yay progress. But it was just a bad experience all around at the time, and I’d rather leave it in the past if that’s okay.”

John nodded. “Fair enough. So, I gather you’ve abandoned your epic ten year plan to get Lydia Martin to fall in love with you.”

Stiles laughed, the first genuine laugh he’d heard since he got back. It warmed him to the core.

“Yeah, I pretty much had to scrap that one as soon as we became friends, really. I do love her, and I think she actually loves me too in her own weird Lydia way, but it’s entirely platonic. It was a very surreal experience finally getting to know her and realizing she’s everything I need – in a friend.”

“Yeah, life sometimes throws you curveballs like that. Did it have anything to do with the fact that she wasn’t a guy?”

“What?” Stiles looked confused for a moment. “Oh, oh – no not really. I mean, I guess I’m flexible? Oh god, that sounds so lame, and also very dirty. Forget that - I mean the term is bisexual, I guess. Not that I have all that many other relationships under my belt – I did date a girl named Olivia for a couple of months before I went on this demon blood adventure, and in South America I had a lot of excess energy to burn – and that was the preferred way I did that – just ask Allison.”

The sheriff arched an eyebrow and Stiles flailed.

“No, no, no, not _with_ Allison, seriously Scott would flay me – literally, the guy has claws. I mean she knows about my – _escapades_ or whatever – and it didn’t much matter to me at the time if it was a guy or a girl. Oh man, I sound like such a slut.”

The sheriff laughed and poured his son another shot of Whiskey. “Don’t worry about it, most of us have a slutty phase we’d rather forget.”

“I don’t even want to know,” said Stiles with a horrified expression. “Do not tell me any more if this is somehow related to you, because it will give me nightmares, and I have enough of those already.”

“Well, as long as you can assure me you were safe in your escapades I’ll never mention it again.”

“This is the worst kind of torture,” muttered Stiles and threw back his shot. “And yes, I’ve been safe.”

“Good, please continue to be so in the future.” This was met with an eye roll and a shrug.

“Sure. Not that I think I need to worry about that anytime soon.”

The sheriff squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. He secretly felt like another drink, but the bottle was almost empty, which meant he’d had his fair share already.

“Oh, I’m not so sure about that.”

He met Stiles’ confused eyes with a tired smile. “Look, I’ve never meddled in your love life, but I’m going to make an exception. I have a theory you see, and I’d like to share it. It might be wrong and if so, let’s agree right now to forget this moment ever happened. We’ll blame the toxic combination of whiskey and Oreos and move on, no harm no foul.”

“Dad, you’re making no sense what so ever. You sound like me when I forgot to take my Adderall.”

John smiled fondly. “Stiles, you don’t love easily, but when you do, you do it passionately and openly. Like with Scott – you love him like a brother, and you’re not afraid to show it. Over the years I have registered you do the same with Allison. You used to wax poetic about Lydia, but it was mostly about her strawberry blonde hair. After you got to know her, you would always talk about her accomplishments, her intelligence and it was clear how dear she was to you. It took a while longer before you talked about Isaac the same way, but you did. Cora was away for a while, but I know more about her and her brilliance with flour than I know about most of my deputies, so it’s clear that you’ve embraced her into your heart as well.”

Stiles was silent and clearly confused. The whole kitchen was filled with confusion, but he was also intrigued and curious.

“These are all people who you love and that loves you back. Then we have the people who we love fiercely and totally, but for whatever reason cannot reciprocate. Those we never talk about. And yes I’m including myself here, because sadly I think I might have unwillingly established this Stilinski-trait. We never talk about your mom. We both love her completely, but she’s not with us anymore and can’t return the feelings. And that hurts. So we suffer – and love -  in silence. The people we love the most and who we think cannot love us back – we don’t talk about them.”

“Dad, I’m not sure I follow?”

John smiled sadly. “If you’d allow yourself to really think about it, I think you do know. But you’ve chosen the road of denial, like most of us do.”

The room was silent for a long time. The only sound was the ticking from the old clock in the living room that hadn’t told the correct time in years.

“Look, son. I’m not going to push this issue. I just wanted to nudge you what I think might be the right direction. There’s just one person out of all the people that I now know are close to you, that I’ve never heard you talk about. And I also spent a very enlightening morning with said person.”

Stiles’ eyes widened almost comically. His mouth hung open, but no words came out.

“What do you mean ' _enlightened_ ”?” he asked carefully but there was no way of hiding the wave of hope weaving its way into the room.

“Oh, Stiles. Just trust your old man for once. I’ve been a detective for most of my life, I’ve made a living out of reading people not by what they say, but what they don’t say, as well as how they react. That’s all I’m going to say on the matter. The rest is up to you. The both of you.”

John rose, put his glass in the dishwasher and patted his son on the back on his way out of the room. Stiles would figure it out. He was stubborn, but his curiosity always won out. He’d given him some sound advice. Advice it was high time he followed himself.

It was time to pay Melissa McCall a visit.

 


	21. Derek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has explicit sexual content.

Derek was hiding.

There really was no other reason for him to be here. He hadn’t been back here since – well since way back when he’d first become Alpha and he’d gone around like a power hungry fool biting stray teenagers left and right. Looking back, he didn’t fully grasp why they’d said yes in the first place. It really was a testament to how fucked up their lives had been when becoming a werewolf with him as their leader seemed like a good solution.

He’d truly been a crappy Alpha, Derek was the first to admit that. How utterly disappointing he must have been to them when they’d realized all he could offer were butt loads of control issues and a depressing old train depot to hide out in. It really was a wonder Isaac had never bolted or tried to kill him. Erica was the only one who ever truly defied him, and truth be told Derek still blamed himself for her death.

And Boyd. He didn’t even want to think about that.

As depressing as it was to think about his former betas, that wasn’t why he was hiding like a rebellious teenager. He’d acted like a spoiled drama queen earlier, storming out of the apartment like that. Derek cringed just thinking about it and knew from experience what fresh hell would be waiting for him when he got back. Cora was not stupid. She would’ve figured it out – they all probably had. He couldn’t stomach the thought of talking to his sister about it. Not now. Not today And boy, would she want to talk!

The upside to having lived longer periods, as a homeless person was that Derek wasn’t particularly adverse to spending time in less than accommodating places. His old moldy mattress was still in the old train cart, and it wasn’t as damp as he’d expected. The dampness he could deal with. The smell in here was however something entirely different. A few moments later he pulled out a half decayed rat the size of an alley cat with a grimace.

“I hope you don’t intend to eat that.”

Derek startled and dropped the rat. His alpha powers might be gone, but Derek had always prided himself on his excellent sense of smell. He could smell people coming a mile away and even emotions were easy for him to make out. This time however, he was taken completely by surprise. He turned slowly, trying to give his face time to get rid of the blush he felt radiation off his skin. He shouldn’t have worried. Stiles looked equally as flushed.

“You shouldn’t be embarrassed that you didn’t smell or hear me coming,” said Stiles with a small smile. “I’m taking any opportunity to practice my magic without tapping into the blood thing. I actually tried to mask my scent. Guess I succeeded.”

“Guess so,” muttered Derek and squatted down to dispose of the disgusting rat. “Can you mask the scent of this fucker as well?” He waved the carcass in Stiles’ direction and watched gleefully as he gagged and grimaced.

“That is vile, even for my dull human nose. Toss that thing out of here and I’ll attempt an air freshening spell or something. It couldn’t hurt regardless; this place is as depressing as ever.”

Derek shrugged and went to dispose of the rat. When he came back, the place smelled faintly of citrus. He arched an eyebrow and Stiles’ shrugged sheepishly.

“Didn’t know your preferred sent for air fresheners so I went with the most common one. Not sure I could handle anything more difficult anyway.”

Derek didn’t answer. He had no idea what to say to be honest. Stiles was the last person he’d expected to see, and he was wholly unprepared. Surprisingly enough even Stiles seemed nervous, which was worrying on many levels.

Not knowing what else to do Derek simply leaned against the nearest wall and stared at anything but Stiles. He could hear Stiles moving around and when he did glance up Stiles was leaning against the opposite wall of the car.

“You’re nervous.”

Derek blurted it out without even thinking. Not only could he smell the nervousness wafting from him, he could also feel it coming off Stiles in waves thanks to the lingering demon blood in his system. Stiles snorted and shrugged his shoulders.

“I guess, yeah.”

“Why?”

That drew a laugh from him. “Oh Derek, you’ve always made me nervous.”

Derek arched an eyebrow. “That’s bullshit. You haven’t been scared of me since way before we killed Peter for the first time.”

Stiles nodded. “True. But that doesn’t change the fact that you always make be nervous. But not necessarily because I’m afraid of you.”

“I’m not following.”

Stiles shifted his weight and chewed his bottom lip. It was very distracting.

“Would you believe me if I said I wasn’t really following either, until today?”

“Now you’ve completely lost me.”

Derek let his head fall back against the cold wall, watching Stiles through narrow eyes. He’d probably never fully understand this enigma of a person before him. Which was, oddly enough much of the appeal.

“You haven’t really talked to me since I started college,” began Stiles and Derek froze. “I didn’t really think about it all that much at first. I gathered by your little outburst earlier today that you knew about Danny and me. That kept me kind of occupied towards the end of high school and then I moved away. After that, we never really talked. It was just the few times when I was back on break, and always with others present. We haven’t really communicated one on one for years. Not like we used to.”

One of Stiles’ tattoos was glowing faintly. Derek was mesmerized and couldn’t help but wonder why it was pulsating dimly in hues of blue. Stiles kept on talking.

“I kept in regular touch with everyone, even Cora. No one ever commented on our lack of communication. I learned enough about what you were up to via the others.  Danny was the only one to ever comment on it, and when he did – well it always ended in arguments.”

Derek looked up sharply and was startled when he realized Stiles was staring at him rather intently.

“Why?”

“Why it ended in arguments?” Stiles laughed mirthlessly. “Mostly because I’m a daft bugger and Danny is too clever for his own good. Or rather because I’m terrific at denial and he was intent on proving to me that it was not just a river in Egypt or something. It didn’t end well.”

“I’m still not following.”

“I’m getting there. It took my dad’s cryptic psych analysis of my inner workings to get me to acknowledge it anyway. That and your little storm-out earlier.”

Derek harrumphed angrily. “I didn’t storm out!” Stiles smirked lopsidedly.

“Oh you stormed all right. The huffiest of drama queens couldn’t have done it better.”

“You clearly never met Laura,” muttered Derek embarrassed. Stiles smiled.

“No, never had the pleasure. But I’d like to hear more about her some time.”

Derek searched Stiles’ face but found nothing but honesty. It was baffling. They hadn’t really been in a room alone together for years, but still it felt more natural and easy than anything he could remember doing.

“Really?”

“Really,” said Stiles. “I might even be persuaded to talk about my mom. But right now I’ve got something else planned.”

The mood suddenly changed and Derek felt his breath hitch. His eyes widened almost comically, but before he could say anything at all, he felt hands on his chest pushing him into the wall with surprising strength.

“Last time we were in this position you were pushing me into my bedroom door, threatening me. In the weeks after I often woke up in the middle of the night, panting and with the biggest boner ever. I never told anyone about that, not even Scott. And Scott, poor guy knows pretty much every embarrassing sex thing I’ve ever done or imagined. But for some reason I never could get myself to admit to the fact that the 'on-the-run-from-the-law-that-is-my-dad' werewolf pushing me against a door gave me boners like nothing before.”

Derek groaned and he could feel Stiles’ breath hot on his ear.

“Kinda like the one I can feel against my thigh right now.”

“Shut up,” panted Derek and wrenched his head to meet Stiles in a bruising kiss. The train cart soon filled with pants, the sound of sloppy and filthy kisses, along with the truly amazing sensation of Stiles’ feelings washing over them. Derek felt delirious. Stiles’ hands were everywhere. Under his shirt, in his hair, fingernails raking over sensitive nipples.

“God, you’re so hot,” Derek murmured against Stiles’ neck. He’d found the perfect place, just behind his ear, clearly a pulse point. It was eliciting the most amazing groans from Stiles and he just knew it would leave a very visible bruise when he was done. Just the thought made his dick jump in anticipation.

“Look who’s talking, Mr. sexy stalker,” panted Stiles. “And you’re wearing too much clothes. I want you naked and on that damp looking mattress right now.”

Derek could little do but comply. He wrenched his own shirt over his head and reached for Stiles’. He’d seen the tattoos already, but at the time they’d all been in mortal peril and he’d had no chance to enjoy the sight. Now he stepped back to take it all in and Stiles whimpered at the loss.

“No, no, get back here,” groaned Stiles and reached for him. His pupils were blown wide and his lips red and swollen from kissing. He’d never looked better.

“I just want to look at you,” murmured Derek and circled around him. He reached out and traced one of the curling lines with his finger. It immediately began to glow.

“Why does it do that?” he asked breathlessly, trailing another one across his back. Stiles shuddered, tipped his head back and grabbed his erection through his boxers.

“Because I’m so turned on I’m about to explode. So unless you’re gonna get back here and help with this –“he gestured to his dick - “I’m gonna take care of it myself.”

“Don’t you dare,” snarled Derek and tugged the boxers down. Stiles’ erection sprung free and he felt his mouth water. He sank to his knees and without warning engulfed Stiles’ throbbing member. It was sensory overload. Stiles muttered obscenities under his breath and met Derek’s movements with his hips.

“Holy fuck, your mouth feels amazing,” wheezed Stiles through clenched teeth. Derek answered by taking it all, burying his nose in Stiles’ pubes and inhaling the scent like a man starving.

“Oh man, I’m not gonna last long if you keep that up.” Stiles tugged at Derek’s hair and he reluctantly let go with a filthy pop.

“I want you horizontal,” murmured Stiles and pushed Derek towards the mattress. They fell down together in a tangle of limbs. He just couldn’t believe this was finally happening as he let his hands roam over Stiles’ chest, taking great care to tweak his nipples, something that elicited the dirtiest of moans.

“We need to get this thing off you,” panted Stiles and pushed at Derek’s boxers. Next, his hand was around his aching member, pumping it expertly. Their lips crashed together, tongues battling for domination. Stiles’ other hand began kneading his butt and Derek couldn’t help it – he began rutting shamelessly against him, his mind hazy with sensation.

“This is going to be over embarrassedly fast,” muttered Stiles against his ear. Derek was too far gone to even string together a response. He just continued bucking into Stiles’ hand, feeling the pressure building like it’d never done before.

“I wanna do all kinds of dirty things to you,” continued Stiles. Derek wasn’t the least bit surprised to realize he was just as vocal during sex as he was in life.

“Yeah?” he managed while he latched onto one of Stiles’ perky nipples. He was rewarded with a string of curses that he took as encouragement.

“Oh yeah,” panted Stiles, meeting Derek’s thrust making their erections grind together. “I’m gonna get my tongue all over you, every nook and cranny. I’ll lick you head to toe and then I’m gonna take my sweet time rimming you and you’re gonna love it. I’ll stretch that hole with just my tongue and when you’re so far gone you can do nothing but beg, then I’ll add my fingers. I’ll open you up like a freaking birthday present and then I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’ll be seeing stars.”

Derek growled deep in his throat before latching onto Stiles’ neck. He could feel his fangs retract and couldn’t help put graze his pulse point without breaking skin. Now it was Stiles’ time to groan.

“Oh like that did you? Are you wolfing out on me? Because that is such a turn on.”

Without warning Derek felt a slender finger probing at his entrance and it instantly flooded him with want. He pushed back into it and felt the sweet burn when it slipped in down to his knuckle.

“Sweet Jesus, you’re tight,” breathed Stiles. Derek wheezed and knowing he was just seconds away from coming, he used his werewolf strength to flip them so that Stiles was on top of him, aligning their dick and grabbing them both in a tight grip.

“Oh my god, would you look at that,” panted Stiles, looking utterly debauched.

“Shut up for a second and kiss me,” demanded Derek and Stiles laughed but complied instantly. A few seconds later the air was filled with their combined groans and the distinct smell of cum. They collapsed onto the frankly disgusting mattress both too exhausted, too blissed out and too happy to even care. Derek could feel the happiness wafting from Stiles in heavy waves. He knew it was a temporary thing, but it was nice. Nice knowing that his feelings were entirely reciprocated, something he’d never even dared imagine.

For a few minutes, they lay there in perfect silence just listening to their breaths, and in Derek’s case their heartbeats. They were perfectly in accord and the odd anomaly from a few days ago was gone. Stiles’ heartbeat was back to its usual erratic ways.

“So,” said Stiles finally. Derek laughed softly.

“Why am I not surprised you couldn’t keep quiet for long?”

Stiles poked his tongue at him and Derek took that as an invitation to latch onto it. They kissed lazily for a long time.

“Should we maybe talk about this?” asked Stiles a good while later.

“Maybe,” murmured Derek into his neck. “I think maybe our lack of communication has been a bit of a hindrance.”

Stiles was drawing lazy circles on his back and Derek  more felt than saw him smile.

“You mean you don’t talk and I talk way too much but not about stuff of importance.”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Then I guess we have something to work on. Because in case you didn’t realize it, I’m kind of far gone on you and think on some level I’ve been so for quite some time. But as my dad pointed out, I tend to suppress and ignore feelings I think are impossible. And you – well I guess you just try to avoid feelings all together. Burned – sorry poor choice of word –  _hurt_  too many times and all that jazz.”

“So what you’re basically saying is that we’re two basket cases when it comes to feelings and we deserve each other?”

“Got it in one.”

Derek lifted his head to stare into Stiles’ amazing hazel eyes. For once, they were entirely serious. He smiled softly, and placed a loving kiss on his forehead.

“Cora will have a field day,” he admitted with a groan. Stiles laughed and shook his head.

“Forget about Cora, I have one word for you –  _LYDIA_.”

“Oh dear god, we’re screwed.”

“That we are. But not until I’ve screwed you.”

“Stiles, your pillow talk is appalling.”

“Deal with it,” demanded Stiles and kissed him hungrily.

Derek could definitely do that.

 

 

 


End file.
